Caged Bird
by Akikofuma
Summary: After her family is killed, the only ones that survive are Sansa and Arya. They escape unharmed from Winterfell, thought dead by everyone. Lord Baelish find her and Arya, convincing Sansa to come work for him, giving them both shelter and food. While Arya helps the other women with and the housework, Sansa is forced to work as a prostitute. Sansa x Sandor. EXPLICIT CONTENT.
1. Chapter 1

Sansa sat on the bed, only a robe wrapped around her body, starring at the door nervously. The sheets beneath her were soft, silky, covering the entire, large bed, making it look noble, expensive. And yes, expensive a visit in this room was.

If anyone had told her 3 years ago that she was going to be here, almost naked, waiting for her first customer, she would have laughed in their face. She was a Lady, a high born, and she was supposed to marry a Lord, a knight. No, Sansa would never have thought it possible that she would ever come into this situation.

Being a whore.

* * *

_3 years ago_

"_Hide! Sansa, take Arya and hide!" _

"_But father!" She cried, grabbing onto Arya who was trying to run after her father and big brother, Robb, while Jon was still with them._

"_Hide! NOW!" Jon called, shoving them roughly out of the great room, sword in one hand. "I'll find your brothers, but now you have to hide!" _

_And so Sansa took her little sister's hand in her own, pulling her out of the room, running along the endless corridors of their home, trying to think of the best place to hide. The Crypt would have been her first choice, but to get there, she would have had to go out into the courtyard, where her father, brother, and half-brother were currently battling against the men that had come to.. well, what had they come for? She didn't know, and didn't care to know. _

_Arya was fighting her with what Sansa assumed was all her might, but adrenaline was pumping through the young woman's veins, giving her an unknown strength as she pulled her little sister with her, determined to find a place that would keep them both safe._

_Finally, she decided that the sewing room of her septa would have to do, and pushed her little sister into one of the big closets, filled with hanging clothes. Ushering Arya to hide behind the gowns, she stepped in herself, closing the doors behind her, hoping that whoever might come into this room wouldn't care to look in the closet of a room that was obviously only needed for one thing, making clothes._

_The sounds of battle could be heard even from the closet, screaming, the violent clash of steel against steel. Sansa prayed that her family would come out of this unharmed._

* * *

When the door swung open, Sansa jumped off the bed, and onto her feet. To her relief, it was not the man she was waiting for, but her closest friend.

Marina, or as everyone called her, Mary, was a few inches shorter than herself, dark skinned and haired, with wistful brown eyes. Her face was just as beautiful as her movements were graceful, and Sansa simply couldn't imagine that she had been here for multiple years and still smile the way she did.

"Don't worry, he's not here yet." Mary calmed her, giving her a wink. "Relax Sansa, or he won't be pleased and ask his money back."

"I know, I know." Sansa whispered, ashamed, as she lowered her head.

"Don't worry, he's going to love you! You know you're the most beautiful from us all." Mary giggled, walking over to the young woman, gently patting her cheek with one hand, as the other pushed a strand of fiery hair behind her ear.

"Oh stop it." The former Stark muttered quietly. Yes, she knew she was beautiful, always had. Her pale skin, blue eyes and red hair had always been the center of anyone's attention where ever she went, back in Winterfell. The young boys had stalked after her, never daring to speak to her, and yet she had always noticed. Yes, she had always been beautiful. Right about now, she wished she wasn't.

"Just remember what we taught you, and you'll be fine." Mary said, giving Sansa that smile that she knew could stop the heartbeat of a man. "Remember to moan, but not too much, or he'll know you're faking it. I mean, he knows you're faking it. But its your job to make him forget that."

"I know." Sansa answered, lowering herself back onto the bed, pulling the silk robe tighter around her body. Even after 3 years of being here, she still couldn't get used to the liberal ways. Many of the women wore their 'work' clothes all day and night, showing off their bodies and not thinking twice about it. Sansa preferred to keep her body covered, as much as she could, though during her 'lessons' it had been demanded that she was naked.

Her cheeks blushed furious at the many memories of her lessons, naked with another woman under the watchful eyes of the owner of the brothel, though he never called it that. 'House of Pleasure' was what he had called it when she had first come here.

Lord Baelish, though widely known as the Mockingbird because of the little bird broach he always had pinned to his clothes, was the owner of this establishment, and had made sure that Sansa and any other girl that had come here that was too young to actually work, was properly trained.

She had been horrified when told that he would attend her lessons, but soon had become used to his presence, and his sharp comments when he had something to correct, or just wanted to add something. All these lessons had been with women, never had Sansa been with a man.

'Don't want to soil you. You'll be worth much more as a maiden than a regular whore.' Baelish had told her. Sansa didn't hate him, not really. But she was disgusted by him. What kind of Lord would run such an establishment? Coax suffering, young women into them with the promise of food and shelter, as long as they did what he asked? No, the knights and lords she had heard and sang about were honorable men, just as her father was.

"_Was. Just as my father was."_ She corrected herself quietly.

* * *

_Hours seemed to pass, and when silence finally fell, Sansa looked at her little sister, putting her index finger to her lips, gesturing for her sister to remain silent. Slowly opening the door, Sansa stepped out of the closet quickly, scanning the room swiftly. But it was empty, and she let out a breath she wasn't even aware she had been holding._

_For a second she thought about leaving Arya in the closet, but then thought better. They should stay together. Calling for her sister quietly, she took her hand once more, peeking out the door just to make sure the corridor was safe, before slowly moving out of the room._

_She tought it strange that she didn't hear her father calling for them, now that the battle seemed to be over. Fear started to rise in her chest, making it hard to breath as it seemed to wrap around her throat like icy claws, pressing down against her soft skin._

_Tugging her sister gently, who seemed to be frozen in place, she moved along the hallways, making sure Arya was behind her, still holding her seemingly tiny hand. She couldn't hear anything but her own and Arya's footsteps, and that unnerved her further than she already was._

_Her father, or brother, or even her half-brother should have been calling for them and their brothers by now. Calling them to open their arms and hug them tightly, to tell them they had fought off the bad men, and that they all were once more safe. But no one was calling for them this time._

* * *

Years later, it had occurred to Sansa what a foolish child she had still been back then, to only then be afraid when her father didn't call for her and her siblings, and not right when the attack had started. But she had thought her father, her entire family untouchable. She had been so sure that her father and her brothers would chase them away, that they would always win because they were _good_ and _honorable _men.

But no, she had only started to fret once she had not been summoned by Ned Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

"You ready?" Mary asked as she looked at the red head, and Sansa gave a small smile and nodded. "Good. He should be here soon. I better get out before he thinks he's getting two for the price of one. Just remember what the Mockingbird told you. Don't look at his scars. He doesn't like it."

Sansa swallowed. The scars. Yes, she had already been warned about the scars her first customer had, though Lord Baelish hadn't gone into detail what kind of scars the man that was going to take her maidenhood had. But she hadn't liked the gleam in his eyes at all.

* * *

_They found her baby brothers first. Laid on the ground, slaughtered. Arya ran towards them, screaming, but Sansa had quickly caught her in her arms, pressing her hand over her sisters mouth, not budging until the smaller had finally stopped screaming, holding back her own tears as she felt the tears of her sister fall onto her hand._

_Slowly, when Arya was silent, she pulled back her hand, and then allowed her to kneel next to their brothers, looking down at them, at the puddle of blood around them, Arya kneeling in the crimson fluid as she wept silently. Sansa closed her eyes, willing herself to stay strong. She knelt down beside Arya, brushing her fingers over her brothers forehead's, before finally closing their unseeing eyes. _

_Now terrified, she urged her sister on, pulling herself and Arya to their feet and moving on. The next horrific sight didn't take long to come around though. Their mother, just as their brothers had been, lay on the floor dead right outside the doors to the great hall. This time Arya didn't scream. She simply starred at the corpse, her eyes wide. The smaller girl had been softly trembling the entire time, but now she shook in earnest. Sansa squeezed her had tighter, now slowly understanding why no one had called for them. _

_Because they were the only ones that had survived._

* * *

Sansa steeled herself with one last breath. She heard footsteps, heavy, loud footsteps. A man. She slowly slid open the robe, just enough to give him a peek at her breasts, just as she had been taught. Nothing could have prepared her for what came through that door, though.

A bear of a man opened the door, one side of his face badly scared, the mutilated skin a light red. He stood at least 6 inches higher than any other man she had ever seen, his physic bulky and muscled.

The man laughed at her expression, but it didn't sound in the least bit happy, or even amused. It was sharp, like the shards of broken glass, and hollow in a way that made Sansa want to inch away from him.

"No one told you about the scars, eh?" he asked, his voice a low tenor as he closed the door. Sansa quickly schooled her face, just as she had been taught as a child, when it had been expected of her to be able to hide her emotions, because that's what a good Lady did.

"I.. I apologize, my Lord. I was just surprised." She said, forcing the best smile onto her face, walking over to the man, and reaching out to touch the marred skin with her hand, brushing her thumb against it. He looked as if he wanted to flinch away, snarling at her much like a dog would, his eyes sparkling with anger. But she didn't back down, even though she felt almost nauseated as she felt the leathery skin beneath her hand.

"I ain't no Lord. And you better not call me one again. I got nothing in common with those men." He grunted out. Sansa was once more surprised by this, but her smile didn't falter as she kept her hand just where it was, placing the other on the man's bicep. She could feel the muscles working under the warm fabric as he clenched and unclenched his hands.

"What would you like me to call you then?" She asked quietly, tilting her head to the side coyly, her hair flowing over her shoulder freely. This was going to be horrible. The man was so tall and broad, and he seemed to have such a foul personality. Surely, he was not going to be gentle with her, and Sansa could only keep herself from trembling by bringing up all her willpower and courage.

"Sandor." The man bit out after a short pause, the scarred skin becoming even redder while his unharmed cheek started to turn red with what was clearly anger. Sansa knew that if she didn't get him to relax soon, he would leave, and the Mockingbird would not be happy with her, not happy at all. For he would have to give this man, _Sandor_, his money back, and apparently, it was quite a bit of coin, or so she had been told. Maiden's were rare, and their price high.

"Sandor.." she tested the name on her lips as she reached for the belt of her robe, opening it slowly as she looked up at him, watching his deep brown eyes flick downwards, to her neck and finally to her breasts. "I like your name. Now Sandor.. why don't we move to a more comfortable place?"

He grunted once more, but then did follow her to the bed. Her robe was now completely open, showing not only her breasts but also her womanhood, and the man shamelessly stared at her body, eyes moving across her skin slowly.

Feeling slightly nervous, despite having played through this situation about a million times, she slowly removed the robe, letting it drop to the floor as she looked him straight in the face, making sure the soft smile she had forced stayed in place, knowing full well that if she so much as twitched when he touched her, he would leave. No man liked being rejected by a woman, but being rejected by a whore was unbearable. Or so she had been told.

And so, when his eyes finally met hers one more, she didn't look away, but smiled, never breaking his gaze as she sat down on the bed, slowly moving backwards until she was in the middle of it. Leaning back, she rested her weight on her arms, placing them behind herself, pulling one leg up to her body to give a peek of the lips.

"Won't you join me?" she asked, reaching out one hand for him, waiting to see if he would take it. Sandor looked down at her, hesitant, standing at the bed looking almost lost. Well, as lost as a man his size could look. The red head was almost confused at such behavior, but then he reached out for her, his hands the size of a bear's paw, and took her hand into his own. His skin was rough, callous even. He was hard working.

Sansa smiled as she pulled the man towards herself, and Sandor knelt on the bed, moving towards her slowly.

"Here, let me help you with your clothes." She said soothingly, moving onto her own knee's, slowly removing the fabric covering his chest, surprised at how docile he was being. She had expected him to simply throw her onto the bed and take her, concentrate on his own pleasure and ignore the pain she was bound to experience.

When she moved down to his pants, she couldn't help but hesitate for just a second, swallowing hard, but then continuing. He helped her, moving back off the bed to stand, and Sansa was suddenly aware that undressing him first would have been more practical. As she looked up at him, the expression on his face was blank, letting nothing on. She had so far ignored his member, not even looking at it, but now that she was pulling off his heavy boots to get rid of his pants, she knew she only had a few more moments before she would have to pay it attention.

Shyly, she looked up at what had been described to her as hard and smooth, streaked with thick veins, and generally not a pretty sight. Mary hadn't lied to her. Sandor's member stood hard and proud, a thick vein running along the underside of his cock, the skin of it a little darker than the rest of his body. The crown was a gentle red, seed already seeping out of the tiny slit, just a little, but enough for her to notice.

"_You can do this._" She told herself, slowly running her hands along his strong legs, over his hipbones and to his chest, resting them on his shoulders. She couldn't deny that he had an attractive body. His muscles were big, and hard to the touch, almost as if they were made from steel, his skin hot and soft where it wasn't scarred. His entire body spoke of hard work, or training, and the scars spoke from battles. She had seen similar scars on her father's body. This man may not be a Lord, or a Knight, but he had seen battle. More than once, she wagered.

"What would you like me to do, Sandor?" she asked sweetly, running one of her hands down the male's body, slowly, teasingly, lower and lower until her fingertips brushed against the dark hair that his member was nestled in. She was surprised when he roughly grabbed her hand, snarling at her.

"None of that." He ground out, and she couldn't help looking up at him in utter surprise. He didn't want her to please him with her hand? Did he prefer to be pleased in another way? Would he want her to use her mouth on him, or simply push her down on the bed and thrust straight into her? Too frightened to speak, she simply looked up at the man.

Then, the hand around her wrist loosened, and he was on his knees on the bed once more, ushering her back gently. Sansa obliged, lowering her body onto the silken sheets, looking up at him, now with a smile again, not wanting to anger the man. He seemed dangerous, his entire body language spoke of violence, as if it was all he ever did. Be violent.

The male was now towering over her, moving to lay on beside her, laying on his side, looking, but not touching. Sansa blushed, something she hadn't done in a long time. While she didn't share the others preference of wearing as little clothing as possible, she had become used to others looking at her naked, and never really felt ashamed. But the way he starred at her, the way he ran his gaze along her body made her nervous, almost anxious. His gaze was intense, and even though he hadn't touched her, she could feel the tiny hairs on her body standing at attention.

When she grew tired of simply laying there, she turned to lay on her side, resting her head on one of her arms as the other reached out to touch his chest. Running her fingertips along the warm skin, she traced an especially vicious looking scar, hearing him grunt quietly. She looked up shortly, and once more his face gave nothing away. But as he didn't protest she continued, curious now as to how this man felt.

"You can touch me too." She encouraged quietly, moving closer to him as her hand rested on his hipbone, as close to his member as she dared to go. "Its alright. I want you too."

"Don't lie to me. You want me to touch you as much as you want to be touched by a man with the plague" He grunted quietly, and once more she could see anger rising in his face. Swallowing, she shook her head.

"No.. I. I do want you to. Not.. not because I care for you, or find you attractive, I admit." She would hear him growl, a deep rumble in his chest, and she quickly continued. "But I know you won't hurt me. Another man might have simply flung me on the bed and took what he wanted."

"And you think I won't use you for my pleasure?" He asked acidly, the words dripping off his lips.

"You will. That is what you came for, and that is what you will receive." She shrugged lightly, the first genuine smile creeping onto her face. "And yet you aren't doing anything. Not rushing me. You didn't hurt me. And I don't think you will, ever. Not more than you have to."

Sandor bared his teeth at her, the scarred side of his face an angry red as he did. But Sansa simply smiled at the man, slowly moving closer, inch by inch, so she wouldn't startle him, and be able to move back quickly in case he protested.

Her breast were the first part of her body to touch his, and the closer she moved, the more they were flattened against his hard chest. He didn't move, but he didn't stop scowling at her, either. Furrowing her brows lightly, she reached up to touch his unharmed cheek, bringing her lips up to his jaw line, pressing a soft kiss into his beard, not minding the slightly prickling sensation.

It took minutes until she was finally pushed flat against him, his member pressing thigh, hard and unyielding. The feeling was foreign, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it, but quickly set her thoughts about it aside. She wanted to make him comfortable, wanted this man to take her maidenhood, somehow sure that he would be gentle with her. Finally, she felt broad hands move over her side, slowly, as if he wasn't sure what to do.

The young woman moved her lips closer to his mouth, pressing another kiss against his skin, encouraging him, or at least hoping that she was. His hand moved to her hip, his thumb brushing against her hipbone gently, drawing little circles on it. Sansa had been touched and touched another woman in this way, but now as Sandor touched her in this way, she could feel her body warm in a way it never had before.

Moving her lips to the corner of his mouth, she was surprised as he turned his head towards her, capturing her lips with his own, gently kissing her. Sansa's eyes flew open in surprise, before fluttering shut. The kiss was sweet, slow. It made all the nerves in her body tingle, making her twitch softly as she moaned quietly, parting her lips for his slick muscle.

As hesitant as he had been before, the bolder he was now. His tongue slipped past her lips, exploring her mouth relentlessly, sliding his slick muscle across the top of her mouth, making her shiver and moan again. She found that she didn't have to pretend to enjoy this. She did. The way he held her, the way he kissed her, all of it was gentle and affectionate, and if she simply closed her eyes, she wouldn't see the hideous scars that still made her uncomfortable.

Sandor then rolled her on onto her back, hovering above her for a second as he looked into her eyes. Sansa answered his gaze, tilting her head to the side, smiling. Whatever he was going to do, he wasn't going to hurt her.

"Such a pretty little bird." He suddenly mumbled, making her raise a brow, something she had been told not to do. But she couldn't help herself as she heard his words. Little bird? Why would he call her that?

She was suddenly distracted, her breath catching in her throat. A wet, warm mouth was wrapped around her nipple, sucking at it gently, while a hot tongue brushed against it, circling it gently. The other bud was being pinched, and it hurt, but Sansa didn't mind as the sensation went straight to her core. The pain was thrilling, in a way. Not too bad, the exact amount of pain she found pleasurable. How he knew this was beyond her, and she decided not to dwell on it, but rather enjoy the pleasure it gave her.

Her breasts were thoroughly loved, cupped in big, rough hands, fondled and massaged as his mouth worked its magic on her hardening buds, until they were erect and perky. Her body squirmed under his touch, and as she opened her eyes for just a few moments, she could see that his face was relaxed, almost pleased. He gave away little, but the way his gaze moved over her breasts, she could tell that he was satisfied with his work.

She watched, absolutely dazed as he kissed down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel, making her hips jerk forward. By now, she was wet, a warmth coiling in her stomach she had never felt before. Her breathing was labored, her long, flaming hair sticking to her body as a thin layer of sweat covered her skin. His hot mouth was moving over her thighs, making her ache, for what exactly she did not now. Reaching out, her fingers connected with his hair, tangling into it as she watched him intently.

She was amazed that such a rough man could be so gentle, so tender. His hands gently spread her legs, running his fingertips along the inside of her thighs as he did, making her moan lowly. He settled in between her legs, running his nose over her skin, nuzzling into the small patch of dark red hair above her womanhood.

"I wondered if your hair would be red here too." He whispered, pulling Sansa back to reality. She wanted to reply, opening her mouth to speak, but then she felt his tongue stroke along her most intimate place, spreading her outer lips, teasingly running his tongue almost all the way to her clit, but then retreating, just to do it again. Her body almost lifted off the bed entirely as she arched her back, a surprised moan slipping past her lips as her grip on his hair tightened.

"Sandor.. please." She begged, not knowing what exactly she was begging for, but wanting more, more of his touch, of the pleasure she was feeling, more of everything this man had to offer.

"You'll get it when I want you too, little bird." He growled, his hands taking hold of her hips, holding her down forcefully. Groaning with frustration, she tugged at his hair, pulling him upwards, urging him to touch her aching bud, to give her more of the delicious sensation. But Sandor did not budge, slowly opening her folds, stroking them with his tongue, until he dove deeper, slowly teasing her entrance. The young woman threw her head from side to side, trying to buck her hips, but being firmly held in place by his strong hands.

And just was she was about to lose her mind, his tongue stroked upwards, higher and higher, until it connected with her aching bud. Her entire body froze as she cried out, her mind going blank as he gently circled the sensitive little bud, making her moan loudly, squirming violently beneath him.

"Yes.. Oh.. Sandor." She moaned, running her fingers through his hair. But as soon as she had moaned out his name, his entire body tensed, stopping his administration to look up at her.

Sansa looked back at the man that was teaching her so many new things about her body, her lips swollen from their kissing, cheeks flushed as she panted, her chest heaving as she tried to fill her lungs with enough oxygen to survive, and finding that task particularly hard.

"Little Bird.." He whispered, nuzzling his nose against her thigh, eyes closed as he inhaled deeply, moving his nose to run along her folds. "Your scent.. it's perfect."

Sansa could feel her cheeks heat even more, his words making her shy, gently running her fingers through his hair. This man was a mystery to her. In one moment he was angry, his aura speaking of nothing but danger, inspiring fear without even having said a word. And now, he was as docile as a lamb, gentle, loving even. His mood changed quicker than she could keep up with, and she wondered how he had become his way. Maybe his scars were the reason, or whatever caused them. Not wanting to think about what horror the man had to endure in the past, she moved her hands to his cheeks, pulling his face up to look at her.

She didn't know what to say, and silence settled between them as they simply looked at each other. A soft smile appeared on her face as she looked into those deep brown eyes. His expression was as always blank, but his eyes were filled with emotions, talking to her in what seemed to be the only way he could express what he felt. Gently stroking his cheek, brushing her thumb over his lips, she simply waited for him to make the next move.

"Oh little bird.." He groaned after another moment of silence, before once more dipping his head between her legs, engulfing her entirely with his mouth, sucking and teasing her leisurely. Sansa felt as if she was drifting, soaring across the sky, pleasure sparking through her body, setting her blood on fire. Her moans filled the room, bouncing off the walls as she felt something deep within her tightening with each stroke of his tongue, coiling more and more, making her toes curl.

"S-Sandor..!" She cried out, and suddenly she saw nothing but white, as the tension in her body released, making her entire body shake violently as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She felt her juices gushing out of her, embarrassed for just a second before another wave of pleasure rolled over her, and she once more forgot the world.

Slowly, she came down from her high, her breathing returning to normal. She barely registered that Sandor had moved back to hovering above her, hands placed next to her head until he spoke to her.

"Little bird.. This is going to hurt." His low voice called, coaxing her back into reality. She could suddenly feel his hard member pressing against her thigh once more as he laid between her spread legs. She looked up at him, finding that she was not afraid in the least.

"You won't hurt me." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips.

"Aye. I won't hurt you. Not more than I have to." He answered gravely. Sansa didn't understand why he was so strained, why he looked at her with such pain in his eyes.

She watched as his hand reached downwards, grasping his rock hard member, the slit now leaking his seed continuously. She felt him nudge at her entrance as he held himself up with his other hand.

"You deserve better than this, little bird." And again, she could not respond to his words, for he was pushing into her, slowly, and yet the pain was worse than she had thought. She was being stretched and filled in ways she never thought possible, and it hurt. Her nails dug into the skin of his neck as she whimpered, desperate for something to hold, to chase away the pain.

"Easy, lass. Relax. It'll hurt more if you don't." Sandor whispered, his hot breath brushing against her ear as he lowered himself onto her, resting almost his entire weight on her, pushing her into the mattress. Desperately, Sansa tried to relax her muscles, and the pain eased a little. And still she couldn't hold back the soft sounds of pain. As she looked into his face, she was startled by his expression. His face was screwed up, the scarred side an angry red, lips pressed into a firm line. Was he in pain? Was she hurting him? Did he not want her? Thoughts raced through her head, mixing with the pain, making her dizzy.

"Breathe, little bird, Sansa. Breath." And she breathed, gulping down air as she dug her nails deeper into his skin, forming little half moon shaped creases in his skin that would fill with blood as soon as she pulled her hands away, moving to scratch over his back, trying to bare the pain the best she could. And then, he thrust into her, breaking through her maidenhood, making her scream out in pain.

Sandor stilled, his body shaking with restraint as he allowed her to grow accustom with the feeling of being filled to the hilt. Sansa was thankful for this, taking a few deep breaths. It still hurt, but it was nothing like it had before. Sometime through the entire thing, her eyes had fallen shut, and as she opened them, she stared right into the brown eyes of the man that was connected with her in the most intimate way. His face was creased with worry in a way that made her heart ache.

"I'm well, Sandor." She breathed, wanting to ease his worries, her hands coming up to his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly. "Do not worry. I know you only hurt me as much as you had to. You hurt me now so that another wouldn't hurt me worse."

"Aye.." Was the only answer she received as he buried his face into the hollow of her neck, hiding himself from her. Sansa didn't know what else to but wrap her arms around him and cradle the man that seemed to big and strong against her body.

"We can stop now, if you want." He suddenly said, once more surprising Sansa. He would stop now? All he had done was pleasure her, and then essentially protect her from the pain others could have, would have cause her. He had done nothing for himself, and still he was willing to stop.

"No.. please don't stop." She whispered, her heart warmed by the kindness of this rough man. It took no more for Sandor, as he slowly pulled back, thrusting back inside gently. Sansa winced at the first few thrusts, but then found that if she relaxed completely, her body would accommodate the hard, smooth member of the man. It wasn't until Sandor reached down with one hand, drawing delicious circles around her sensitive bundle of nerves that she started to feel pleasure once more.

Her moans, at first quiet, grew louder as he picked up the pace of his thrusts, stimulating her bud as he slid inside her, again and again, until she was screaming in pleasure. Somehow, as he had shifted his hips, he had started to rub against a spot inside her that made her gasp for air whenever it was touched. She could feel her body wind up, tensing and trembling in a way it had only once before, only minutes ago.

She could hear the low grunts and pants from the man above her, but aside of that he was quiet, briefly making her wonder if he didn't enjoy this as much as she was. Sweat was gathering at his eyebrow, slowly traveling down his face, and dripping onto her chest. And she found it unbelievable arousing that she could cause this. That she could bring this stoic man to emotional reactions, to excite him.

Her thoughts were once more overthrown by the pleasure of her release, her mind going blank as she cried out, not even trying to stifle the sounds. She could feel his member inside her as her tight channel contracted around her, making her moan even louder. A low groan pulled her attention back to the man's face.

His eyes closed, face contorted once more, the mutilated skin almost purple, Sandor's movements became erratic, frantic, and with another low grown he sheathed himself deeply within her, releasing his seed into her body, causing the young woman to moan lowly, feeling the hot liquid filling her.

As Sandor retreated, Sansa felt empty, as if her muscles wouldn't return to the way they were, and she wondered if she would simply stay stretched. Mary had told her that it would go back to normal after a little while, but maybe she was different, and she would always be stretched to fit the member of her first.

Sandor slowly pulled out, falling onto the bed next to her, his eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing. Once more silence settled between them, but Sansa wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

'_Thank you, maybe._' She thought wearily, feeling her eyes fall shut, simply exhausted. She felt the silken sheet being pulled over her body, thankfully wrapping herself into it as her head rested on one of the pillows.

"Sleep, little bird." He whispered into her ear, but Sansa was already drifting off, not able to say a single word.

"I will be back soon." Was the last she heard, before sleep overcame her, and she was pulled into the land of dreams.

* * *

_Love it? Hate it? Want more? Review!_


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days had Sansa in an emotional turmoil. Confused about the man that had given her so much pleasure, and then seemed to have disappeared into the night. Angered, because what he had given her was no where close to what the other men wanted from her. Saddened that he had not been back to see her yet.

"Sansa, stop staring out the window and eat." Arya scolded, the young girl frowning at her bigger sister. "I made you lemon cake!"

"Thank you, Arya." Sansa replied softly, moving to sit at the table with her sister, looking at the short brown hair. "Did you have to cut it so short?"

"Its much easier to clean and cook with short hair. And most of the men that come here think I'm a boy. Makes it easier to stay out of their way." Arya shrugged, obviously not bothered by her sisters disapproval, shoving some of the pastries she had brought up for her sister into her mouth. "Lysa was more than happy when I finally let her cut it off."

Sansa simply sighed, shaking her head, but didn't comment on it any further. Arya helped in the kitchens and with the cleaning, and Sansa had made very sure that those were the only tasks her little sister would help with. Of course, Lord Baelish had first wanted her as one of his many girls, but Sansa had refused to even consider that. It was bad enough that she had to agree to this way of life. She didn't want it for her sister.

"Lysa said you're getting good at cooking." Sansa prompted gently, watching as her sister ate. These moments were rare, moments she could spend peacefully with her little sister, doing something normal, like sharing a meal. The older Stark tried to give Arya as much normality as she could, after the many things they had been through. They had grown so much closer since that horrible day that robbed them of the rest of their family. The things they had fought about seemed so silly in hindsight. Now, they were both simply happy to spend a few uninterrupted minutes with each other.

"I guess. I'd rather train with the boys. But they won't let me. Say that girls have no business fighting." Arya shrugged lightly, annoyance written clear on her face as she looked up at her big sister. "Maybe if I asked Littlefinger, he'd let me."

The boys she was referring to could not have been any other boys then the sons of the families that lived close to the brothel, meeting out in the streets for little tournaments and fighting, or what they called 'training'. Sansa doubted any of them knew how to properly handle a sword.

Shaking her head, she took her sisters hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "What did I tell you about him, Arya?"

"That he always wants something in return. That he's dangerous." Arya huffed, rolling her eyes. "But Sansa, what could he want from _me_?"

"I don't know, and that frightens me. You won't ask anything of him. Promise me." Sansa looked at her, blue eyes searching her sisters face. "Promise me, Arya."

"Fine!" Arya gave in, pulling her hand out of her sisters as she pouted down at her plate. "I'll never learn how to fight now."

"And lets hope you don't have to." Sansa sighed, looking at her. "Why would you want to learn how to sword fight anyway?"

The girl was quiet for a little, but Sansa didn't rush her. She had found that Arya would speak to her whenever she wanted to, and not a second earlier. Pushing wouldn't get her anywhere.

"I keep thinking that if I had known back then, I could have at least helped." The words were barely loud enough to be heard, but the red head caught them anyway.

"Arya. I don't think either of us could have helped. Father, and Robb and Jon.. They all knew how to fight. It was just.." Sansa shrugged, helplessly, not knowing how to explain to her sister why those things had happened, despite having tried so many times. "We couldn't have helped."

"You don't know that!" Arya jumped up, hands angrily balled into fists. "Maybe we could have! Maybe if we had known how to fight, we would have won!"

"Or we could have all been dead." Sansa answered calmly. "But we're not Arya. We're alive. You're alive. And I'm glad you are."

"Maybe we should have died with them. We might have been better off." Arya shook her head, turning to leave. "Or is this how you want to live?"

She didn't wait for an answer before storming out of the door.

* * *

"Day off then, Sansa?" Mary smiled, sauntering into the room only minutes after Arya had left.

Sansa nodded, sighing as she piled up the empty plates, making sure to keep some of the lemon cake behind for later. Mary sat down next to her, casually picking out some food and popping it into her mouth.

"Your sister can be heard raging from here to The Twins, you know." She finally said, grinning at the red haired woman.

"I can imagine they can hear her at Castle Black." Sansa answered, shaking her head as she abandoned the task of cleaning up behind Arya, and simply sat back down. "She'll calm down."

"Eventually. Until then, you might find that all your favorite food will find its way to everyone but you." The brunette grinned, obviously amused by this idea, causing a small smile to appear on her friends face as well.

"Maybe. Luckily I have you then, who will happily trade whatever food I like." She answered, her grin spreading as she looked at her friend. "After all, you wouldn't want me to waste away."

"No, I wouldn't want that." Mary nodded, smiling at Sansa. "So, your first week has passed. How was it?"

Sansa cringed, remembering the many men, faceless now, and all the things they wanted from her. And then him again, always _him_, the feeling of his body above her, his skin under her fingers, his voice in her ear, deep, rough. Her first night seemed surreal to her now, and she wondered if it had all been a dream.

"Fine." she finally answered, once more shrugging. "Just like your first week, I'd guess."

"Probably." The other woman furrowed her brows, looking her up and down. "The first few days are always rough. You'll get used to it before you know it. Its really not all that bad, Sansa. After a while, you might even enjoy it. Most girls here do."

"Maybe." Was all she could reply. She sincerely doubted that she could ever enjoy letting one man after the other touch her, take her, and then just leave again. At least none of them had asked anything of her she wasn't prepared for. She found that her teachers had prepared her well. "Lets go to the gardens, Mary."

* * *

The gardens had been her favorite place to go since she had arrived here, dirty and hungry, and yet the beauty of the garden had taken her breath away. Flowers that always seemed to bloom, the scent laying heavy in the air, offered some sort of security to her. She loved sitting in between all the nature and looking up into the sky.

Sometimes she imagined she was a bird, sitting on one of the branches, simply resting in the shade before carrying on to somewhere else. Of course, she knew that until she was too old to be pleasing to their customers, she would be going no where.

"Sing us a song, Sansa." The girls called, giggling and scuttling towards her, seating themselves before the former Stark.

"Sing of the Knights!" one called.

"No, sing of the Swan!" another demanded.

"Of the dragons, Sansa, sing of the dragons!"

Laughing, Sansa lifted her hands in surrender, blushing lightly as she started to sing, a song of one of the most bravest knights, a song her mother had thought her when she was but a small child. She sang of his bravery, of the battles he had fought, and the beautiful maiden he had rescued from the claws of a gruesome man, holding her captive in a tower so high it scraped against the clouds.

The woman around her laughed and clapped, and once the first song was over, demanded a second, and then a third. And Sansa obeyed, singing to them until her throat grew raw and she couldn't help but giggle half way through the song.

If only she had turned around to look at who was listening to her closest.

* * *

Another week passed, and then another. Sansa found that her friend had been right. She had soon settled into a routine while at work, and into another during her free time. Arya had begged her to let her train with the boys, and Sansa had begrudgingly given her consent, as long as Arya didn't let her other duties slide.

Arya had hugged her, and immediately set off, only to come back almost heart broken, tears swimming in her eyes as she told Sansa that the boys would only let her join them if she had a training sword, just like them.

Sansa had then gone to Lord Baelish, and acted against her own advice. She had asked him to get one of those swords for Arya, so that her little sister could finally do what she had always wanted to.

She hated the way the Lord looked at her, his eyes cascading down her form slowly, the smile on his face never quite reaching his eyes, hands clasped behind his back firmly. But this was worth it, whatever the Mockingbird would ask from her in the future couldn't be as bad as looking into the tear stained face of her little sister.

And so, only a day later, Arya came cheering into Sansa's room, for which she scolded her little sister, reminding her that she was working today, and that she wasn't to barge in without knocking first.

"But look!" Arya chimed up half ways through her scolding, proudly holding up a sword, small and dull, a one used to train children. "Lord Baelish said he saw what those horrible boys did, and got me one!"

"That was very kind of him, Arya. I hope you said thank you." Sansa said, smiling down at her sister, moving to rub some dirt off her cheek. She didn't know how Arya always managed to get so much dirt on such a little person as herself, but then, she didn't really care. Her sister was smiling and happy.

"I did!" Arya said hastily, hugging her sister as she grinned widely, darting back out of the room, or at least attempting to. Her small form bumped straight into the body of a male, much, much taller than she had ever seen.

Wide eyed, the little Stark looked up in the scarred face of the man Sansa had spent so many nights dreaming about.

* * *

"Arya!" Sansa rushed to her sisters side, quickly pulling her back against her own body as her sister kept gaping up at Sandor. "I'm sorry, please forgive my sisters haste."

"Sister." Sandor said slowly, eying the girl before him, his hand placed loosely at the hilt of his sword.

"What happened to your _face?_" Arya finally spoke, sounding horrified.

"Arya!" Sansa gasped once more, turning her sister to face her. "You don't ask those things, do you hear me?!"

Sansa felt panicked, knowing that every girl in this house had been told to not even _look_ at the scars. What was he going to do to someone that didn't only stare, but actually had the audacity to ask about them?

Arya looked equally startled by her sisters reaction as she had been by Sandor's scars, but nodded quickly, realizing that her sister was trying to protect her, and for once, Arya was willing to let her.

"I'm sorry, Ser, she's just a child.." Sansa started, looking up at the male, expecting to see him scowling at her just as he had when she had placed a hand to the injured side of his face, but found an almost amused expression on his face.

"You know how to use that, girl?" He asked quietly, nudging the sword that Arya held clamped in her hand with the tip of his boot. Arya turned, looking up at Sandor almost defiantly, and Sansa held her breath.

"Not yet." The brunette bit out petulantly, obviously not planning to back down. Sansa had cursed Arya's big mouth a number of times, but this time she thought she was going to gag her sister for her rest of her life herself.

"Aye. Not yet. Once you do, and you beat me, I'll tell you. Now run off."

Arya turned to her sister, and Sansa gave a quick nod, relieved that Sandor didn't seem to want to push this matter any more than she did, and Arya quickly left, squeezing by Sandor's legs and closing the door behind her.

"I'm really sorry, Ser, she doesn't know when to be quiet." Sansa said again, hoping Arya hadn't offended the man too much.

"I told you not to call me Ser, or Lord, little bird." Sandor simply ground out, loosening the belt that held his sword, placing it against the wall, and starting to undo his armor.

"Sandor." She quickly corrected herself, moving to help him remove his armor, earning herself a quirk of his brow, but nothing more. They stayed in silence as she placed his chest plate onto the table, and one piece of armor after the other, until he stood in his breeches and shirt.

She was confused, not sure how she was supposed to act, though of course, he was only here for one thing. Untying her robe, she looked up at him, and found him staring at her just as intently as he had when they first met.

Broad hands came up to her shoulders, brushing the fabric of her robe offs, letting it fall to the floor, uncared for. Sansa couldn't help but blush, turning away her face as he once more examined her. Her chin was grasped, and before she knew it, he had seized her lips in a kiss, hungry, bruising, teeth and tongues clashing against each other, thrilling her to the core.

She felt his hands at the back of her thighs, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist, her arms around his neck, as he continued kissing her, moving her towards the bed, and gently placing her onto the silken sheets. She could feel her cheeks heat as she was faced with the considerable bulge in his pants, but gave herself no time to think. As he cast off his shirt, she grabbed for the hem of his pants and pulled them downward.

She heard him grunt, but paid no mind to it as she looked straight at what had been inside her weeks ago. Her eyes widened, her mouth formed into a silent 'o'. He was bigger in every way than any other man she had been with, and she simply couldn't imagine how this had fit inside her that night. She felt fingers curling into her long hair, pulling her upwards and away, but Sansa would have none of it.

She still remembered the way he had loved her, how gentle he had been, how loving, how he had tasted her honey, without a second thought. He had given her more pleasure than any other, and Sansa was determined to give it back in any way she could. Gathering her courage, she reached out for his member, wrapping her hand around it, stroking gently.

She had done this to countless other men by now, and yet, this was _different._ She didn't feel disgusted by it, she didn't have to force her face to keep straight. No, the only thing she felt now was curiosity, and hope, hope that he would enjoy this, that she was doing it right. Starting at a leisure pace, she grew accustom with the piece of hard flesh, the feel of having it in her hand, the weight. He didn't budge, didn't speak, but she could hear his ragged breaths above her.

Growing bolder, she brushed her thumb out against his tip, pulling a low growl from the male, his member twitching in her hand, and she almost giggled at the reaction. She had never really looked at a man's cock before, nor had she paid such close attention to its reaction when stroked, but then, that's not what had been expected of her. Get it hard, stroke it, maybe suck it a little, and then her work was done, unless the customer wanted her above him. But not this man.

Looking up at him through her lashes, she was met with a almost burning gaze, his lips slightly parted, his eyes only half open, taking ragged breaths. A surge of heat burnt through her, and before she even really knew what she was doing, she had her lips wrapped around his tip, sucking at it gently. She could hear him moan, could feel the hands in her hair tightening until they were almost hurting her, and found that she didn't care. She was giving him pleasure. He was enjoying this.

Wrapping her hand around the shaft, right at the base, she circled his tip with her tongue, gathering up the salty drops of seed she found there, her eyes falling shut as she listened to his gruff moans, feeling warmth spread between her thighs. And then, slowly, very slowly, she inched him into her mouth, more and more, until she simply could take no more. She felt him twitch in her mouth, taste him, his flavor earthy, and not nearly as unpleasant as the taste of the other men.

It seemed it was all he could take, as he gently pried her off his member, before not so gently pushing her to lay on her back, his arms under her knee's, pulling her legs up and holding her as she looked up at him, panting hard.

"Fuck, little bird. Do you even know what you're doing to me?" He ground out between clenched teeth, bending towards her, sucking a tip of her breast into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, and gently biting down.

"I.." Sansa didn't know what to say, couldn't think as lust spread through her body. Her hands came up to his biceps all on their on, grabbing hold of them, digging nails into his flesh as she arched her back, pushing her chest against his face as much as possible.

"No, you don't." He whispered against her moist bud, his breath hot, hardening her further. "And you'll never know."

She was about to reply, to ask him to explain to her not only what she was doing to him, but what he was doing to her, for she really couldn't understand, when the door suddenly flew open.

A young man, a little older than her, stood in the door, looking about as scared as she felt irritated. Sandor seemed to share the sentiment.

"You've got 3 seconds to explain what you're doing here boy, before I go for my sword and cut you in two." He growled out, his body tense, the danger in his voice only thrilling her more, for a reason she truly couldn't understand.

"Hound.. the.. King Joffrey has demanded your presence at the castle." The boy squeaked, his eyes flicking towards the large sword leaned against the wall, probably hoping that it was far enough out of reach for him to escape before Sandor got to it.

_Hound_? She thought to herself, the first clear thought she could muster since he had kissed her. _Why would he call him Hound?_

"Get out." Sandor barked, and the boy fled as quickly as his feet would carry him. "Bloody hell."

She watched as Sandor looked down at her, his teeth bared, angry, his scars a fiery red, before he let out a frustrated grunt and let go of her.

"Don't go." She quickly sat, her hands still on his arms. "Please."

"I'm the Kings dog, little bird. He calls, and I come." He said gravely, taking her delicate hands in his own, rubbing his bearded cheek against them. "I will come back soon."

"The last time you said you'd come back soon, you stayed away three weeks." She answered, astounded at herself. She was a whore. What right did she have to demand him to stay, or even question how long he stayed away from her? And yet, she couldn't take back her words, and so she sat on the bed, naked as her nameday, and stared up into the face of the man that made her feel like she never had before.

"Aye, lass. I won't stay away three weeks this time." He answered, letting go of her hands, moving to get dressed. Sighing, Sansa stood and helped him with his armor, strapping it in place.

"How long will you stay away?" She asked tentatively, not daring to look at him. He grunted, shaking his head as he fastened his belt around his hip, moving to place a broad hand against her cheek, tilting her head upwards gently.

"For however long I must."

His words crushed her, and she could feel tears stinging her eyes. _Stop being silly, Sansa. You're a whore. Remember that. _She told herself, but still couldn't help feeling devastated at his departure.

"Get your money back from Sir Baelish then." She whispered, turning away from him, picking up her robe, wrapping the material around herself as if it would shield her from the cold she felt. "You didn't get what you came for."

Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, spinning her around, making her gasp with surprise. He was staring down at her, angry, oh so angry, and she couldn't help but try and escape him, fighting him.

"Let me go!" She cried, tears finally spilling over her cheeks, if out of fear or anger, she didn't know.

"Don't ever think that's what I come for, little bird." He growled, his grip growing tighter, painful now, and she knew she would carry the bruises for days. _At least I'll have something of his, then._ She thought grimly, fighting him more.

"What else would you come for?!" She spat, starring up at him defiantly. "I'm a _whore._ This is a _brothel._"

"You are more than a common whore!" He barked back at her, and for one second Sansa thought he would strike her, his hand coming up against her face. Instead, she felt his fingers wrap around her chin, and his lips were on her's again, with such crushing force she thought he would simply consume her.

Wanting none of it, she screamed against his lips, and finally, when he would not relent, bit down on his tongue with all her power. His blood tasted of copper, metallic and stale, and he cursed as he pulled back, finally releasing her. She starred back at him, watching as he brought his hand up to his mouth, glaring at her. She spit the blood still in her mouth onto the floor, her arms crossed over her chest.

What was he going to do? Would he strike her? Would he go to Lord Baelish? Sansa didn't care if he struck her down with his sword right there and then. But nothing of that happened.

With what sounded like a strangled howl of a wounded dog, he turned on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

She was once more alone.

* * *

"Sansa, what happened?!" Mary cried as she rushed to her, clearly horrified at her appearance. Blood still stuck to her lips, and her hair was probably is a state of disarray. Her robe had slipped off her shoulder, the bruises already blooming a brilliant red.

"Call Lord Baelish!" She hissed to the next woman that entered the room, quickly guiding Sansa to sit on the bed, using the expensive silken bed sheet to gently dab the blood off her lips. "Any of it yours?"

Sansa shook her head, absently pulling up the robe to once more cover her, her gaze fixed onto the wall as she sat and thought about what had happened. He was never going to come back, that was for sure. She hadn't only demanded he stay with her, but she had fought him, _bit _him. She was lucky if Lord Baelish let her stay.

"Sansa." The man she worked for stood in the door, looking at her with a serious expression. She didn't answer. She didn't want to admit to what she had done. She still hadn't really grasped what she had done. "Was she hurt?"

"Bruises." Mary answered for her, pulling down the robe to show the Mockingbird the damage done. "I.. she must have bit him. The blood isn't hers."

"Sansa, child, what happened?" He was moving towards her, his footsteps almost deafening, and she finally looked up at him.

"We got.. carried away." She answered slowly. Maybe, just maybe, Sandor would lie for her, and she would be able to get away with it. Maybe he had just taken his money and left, if Lord Baelish didn't know what happened.

"You got. Carried away." Mary repeated quietly, looking at her, and then at Lord Baelish, as if she didn't know what to say to that.

"Are you sure that he did not harm you? You do not have to fear him, Sansa, if he did, he will not get close to you again." The male said, sitting down next to her, reaching up and rubbing the blood from the corner of his mouth. "The girls said they heard you scream. He's not known to hurt women."

"We got carried away. He was quite passionate. I.. He pushed in a little too quickly, and I bit down by accident." She answered, finally starting to find her equilibrium again. "He got angry when I did and.. gripped me a little to hard. That's why I screamed. He let go when I did. He didn't mean to hurt me, Lord Baelish. I am sorry for causing such an uproar."

Littlefinger and Mary both looked at her, searching her face, but she smiled, wiping off a stray tear.

"Its all a bit silly, I fear. I was overwhelmed, he's quite passionate. It _was_ my fault. I am very sorry." She repeated, hoping that they would buy it, that if Sandor ever came to see her again, he wouldn't be stopped at he gates.

"Very well." Lord Baelish finally said, smiling at her. "You mustn't let that happen again Sansa, but I can understand that this is all still very new to you. I will offer Clegane my apologizes, and I am sure you are willing to uh, make up for this little incident."

"Of course, Lord Baelish. It will never happen again." She smiled, nodding her head, letting Mary comb through her hair with her fingers. "I really don't know what got into me."

"Mary, look after Sansa for the rest of the day. You can work the night instead. I will pull one of the other girls in for today." Before Sansa could protest, Mary had already answered.

"Yes, Sir Baelish." And so the tall man walked out of the room, closing the door, and leaving the two women alone.

"..Are you sure that's what happened, Sansa?" Mary asked when she was sure they were alone, having checked the door for unwelcome listeners before.

"Yes, Mary. That's what happened. I'm sorry for scaring everyone."

She had gotten what she deserved.

* * *

"Those bruises look horrible." Arya said disapprovingly, running her fingertips over Sansa's arms. "Do they hurt?"

The red head was comfortably seated in a tub of hot water, soaking in it, preparing for another busy night of work. Arya had come for a visit, and offered to wash her hair, and Sansa had agreed, knowing that despite liking her hair short, Arya had always loved her red, waist-long hair.

"No, Arya, they don't hurt. They look worse after a few days than they actually are. You should know that, you come back carrying more bruises every day." She teased her, smiling as her sister started to wash her hair, the soap rose scented, as the oil she rubbed her body with.

"Yeah but I am out fighting. You..." Arya trailed off, not wanting to keep talking, and Sansa didn't make her.

"What I do leaves bruises once in a while too, Arya. Its not that bad."

"That man. The one I saw. He gave them to you?" The smaller asked, carefully washing out the soap by pouring water from a little bowl over Sansa's head. "Is he a bad man, Sansa?"

"No, Arya. He's not a bad man. He doesn't know his strength, sometimes. That's all. Like when you and the older boys fight, and he hits you a little to hard. They just forget how strong they are." She soothed, tilting her head backwards, making it easier for her little sister to keep the soap out of her eyes. "He's not a bad man at all."

"So you like him, then?"

"..Yes, Arya. I like him." What else was she going to say? Tell her little sister that she was at war with herself? That her feelings for Sandor were as different, so confusing that she simply didn't know anymore?

"And the other ones. Do you like them too?"

"Where are all these questions coming from, Arya?" Turning, Sansa couldn't help but feel worried and unsettled at the sudden inquisition. "What's bothering you?"

"One of the boys said that the men that come here, that they're bad men." She said quietly,shrugging lightly as she starred down at the bowl in her hands. "And that the women here hate them. That they do bad things to them."

Sansa looked down at her little sister, robbed of words for a few minutes. How was she ever going to get out of this without making her sister feel horrible, one way or another?

"Well, Arya. Sometimes men come here.. men that aren't really good men, but they aren't really bad men either." She said slowly. "And the things they want from us.. are very intimate things. Some people don't like women like me, so they speak badly about us, and the men that come to us. Because the men that come to us, sometimes, are married."

"And why don't they stay with their wives? Don't their wives do what you do?"

"No, Arya, sometimes their wives don't. Sometimes, fathers marry their daughters to men they never met before, and then these women might not like their husband. And that's when they come to us. And some men that don't have wives, they just like doing what.. we do with them." _There_, she thought. _Almost the truth._

"And do you?" Arya asked, reaching out to play with Sansa's hair, gently, not wanting to tangle it up.

"Do I what, Arya?"

"Do you like it?"

"...Sometimes Arya. Sometimes, I do."

* * *

A week had passed since she had last seen him. The days had been turbulent, not only because she still didn't know what to think, but because the city saw more and more uproars of unhappy citizens. There was always trouble somewhere, and Sansa had taken to keep Arya close at all times, asking Mary or one of the other girls to keep an eye on her when she was working. She feared too much that Arya would show up somewhere at the wrong time, and get hurt, or killed. She couldn't let that happen.

And yet, one afternoon, Sansa went looking for her little sister, and couldn't find her. Cold dread rushed over her as she started to run through the entire building, calling out for her little sister, screaming for her at the top of her lungs, but couldn't find her. Soon, all the girls that weren't working were looking with her, pouring through every single room that wasn't being used, knowing that Arya wouldn't be in one of them. Sansa checked in the kitchens, the bath's, the garden, her cheeks reddened by her screaming and running around.

She could hear the other girls calling Arya's name as she pushed passed the guards at the front door, looking for her little sister, hoping she was simply playing with the boys outside, too busy to hear her. She had taken all of two steps out of the establishment before she was roughly pulled back inside by the guards, screaming at her that a turmoil was not far off, and that they were only waiting for one of the whore's to wonder out on the street and grab them.

Screaming back, she fought them as they pulled her back, pleading with them, bargaining with them, begging them to let her go, that Arya was somewhere out there, and if a turmoil was close, she was in danger. They didn't listen to her, dragging her further away from he door and back into her room, where she was greeted by Mary, who wrapped her arms around her, whispering to her that Arya was surely fine, had probably run off with the boys, and was going to come home covered in dirt as she always did. That the turmoil just started, that Arya must have been gone for hours, that they needed to keep themselves safe, or Arya would have no one to come home to.

Sansa didn't listen to a single word, crying, despairing, sinking to the floor when her energy finally left her, almost choking on her own tears. Her little sister was missing, and right outside her door, there were men and women only waiting to sink their hands and weapons into someone. She could hear them bounding against their door, knowing full well that their bed linens were worth more than they earned in a week, and that their kitchen was well stocked.

"Sansa, calm yourself." Mary whispered into her ear, still holding her, cradling her against her chest, stroking her hair. "Everything's going to be well, please, you have to sto-"

A sudden roar interrupted her, a roar she had heard before, from a voice she knew...

"Sandor!" She whispered, jumping to her feet, running towards the doors. They flung open before she could reach them, and there he stood, his chest plate and blade covered in blood, his hair sticking to his face, the scared side of his face covered with chunks of blood, and other things she didn't care to name.

"Sandor!" The guards stepped to the side as she flung herself at him, and he caught her, wrapping his arms around her, both not caring about the looks they were being given.

"Little bird." He rasped out, looking down at her, brushing her cheek with his thumb, smearing her pale skin with dirt and blood. "You alright?"

"Yes, the guards are keeping us safe, but Arya, she's not here!" Sansa could feel a new rush of tears coming on, staring up into the male's half-scarred face. "Please, you need to find her! She's out there, you have to bring her back to me!"

"Are you sure?" He asked quietly, but his voice seemed strained. "Are you sure she's not here?!"

"We've looked all over, she's not here!" Sansa insisted, her hands coming up to his face, cupping his cheeks, holding his face. "Please, I'll do anything, anything, if you bring her back to me. Please!"

And then she kissed him, kissed him deeply, pouring all her feelings into that one kiss, before pulling back once more.

"Please.. she's my little sister."

Sandor looked at her for a second longer before releasing her and turning, grunting to the guards that opened the door just long enough for him to rush through them, and then she could hear him howl, howl like a dog in battle.

If anyone could bring Arya back to her, it was him.

Arya Stark sat on top of a tree, shaking like a leaf, holding onto her sword as hard as she could. The men and women beneath her didn't know she was there, and that was the only thing that kept her alive. She had gone with the boys, had ignored her sisters warnings and left, bored with staying in doors for days on end.

On her way back, she had encountered a mass of people, all of them bagging against the wooden door of the brothel, screaming and yelling. She didn't know how long she had been sitting here, but with each minute that went by, she could feel fear creeping into her bones more and more. If they got passed the wooden door, if they got passed the guards... Arya squeezed her eyes shut.

She couldn't lose her big sister, the only one she had left. She had heard Sansa screaming from behind the door, probably screaming for her, terrified that Arya was no where to be found. She had never heard Sansa scream like that. She wanted to call back, wanted to let her know she was alright, but didn't dare calling attention to herself. The men would have plucked her from the tree like an apple.

The roar of a man finally made her open here eyes, and there he was, that ugly man, cutting through the people as if they were nothing but straw puppets, like the ones Jon and Robb had used to train on. Blood was soon covering him, and the people backed away, and then he was gone, walking straight into the place Arya wanted to be in right now, more than anything in the world.

But only minutes later, he reappeared, wielding his sword with such force that the first man he struck lost his arm, as it was severed from his shoulder. He was shouting, though she couldn't make out what, when more armored men joined him, starting to fight the riot down. Finally, he was close enough for her to hear.

"Arya!" He hollered, piercing a man through the chest. He was looking for her. Quickly, she called out for him, not knowing his name, but screaming anyway to get his attention. As he looked up, she stared back down, and before she knew what else to do, she jumped. He caught her, wrapping his arm around her chest, pressing her against his own, roughly pulling her with him. Wide eyed with terror, she watched as the people around her died, watched as their bowls spilled out of their stomachs, blinking when something hot and wet hit her face.

She looked up at the one that was currently busy protecting her, watched as he roared and bellowed, slashing through one body after the other, pulling her with him, his arm latched around her so hard she could barely breath.

"Arya!" Her sister cried out as they finally passed through the wooden door, and she was being embraced, pulled against her sister and held tight, listening to her cry and whisper that she had been so afraid. It wasn't until then that her own tears surfaced, and she wrapped herself around her sister, never wanting to let go.

* * *

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	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you all of you, who keep reading this story, who follow and favorite it, and of course to those who review! _

* * *

Sansa watched as her little sister slept in her bed, gently caressing her cheek, her forehead, pushing the short, brown strands of her hair to the side to check if her sister had come down with a fever. The small girl looked much too large in the satin covered bed, but Sansa would not have let her out of her sight for at least tonight. Not after what happened.

She had held Arya for what seemed like hours as her little sister wept against her, until she fell asleep against her big sister. Sandor had been long gone by then, out to do his duty to the king, and cut down whoever dared to start, or part take in, a riot. And so Sansa had lifted her sister, cradled her against her chest, and took her to her room. Her sleep was troubled, throwing her head from side to side, mumbling words Sansa couldn't understand.

Arya had never been a delicate child, no, it had always been the red head that had frowned at the sight of fighting and blood. And yet, she wagered that what Arya saw while being rescued was enough to shake every child, no matter how brave, straight to the core. Pulling the blankets further up the sleeping form, she tugged them in against her body, not wanting her sister to be cold.

Sadness filled her heart as she thought about what the little she-wolf had been through, and that she hadn't been able to help her. Not really. If Sandor hadn't came, if he hadn't checked on her, Arya could have very well been lying dead in the street. But the Hound, as they called him, had brought her sister back to her, just as she had begged him to.

Sighing deeply, she remembered her words. _I'll do anything you want._ She snorted. Wasn't that what she was here for? To give him whatever he wanted, as long as he had the coin to pay for it? What could she offer him aside of her body? She could have told him the truth, about herself, about Arya. Maybe then, he could bring them to court, return the Stark's to the north. But what good would that do him? No, she never wanted to return to Winterfell. There were too many memories there, laced with too much pain. She had to remain in hiding.

A knock pulled the young woman from her dour thoughts, her glance flickering toward the door for just a second before returning to the brunette on her bed.

"I'll be right back." She whispered, not knowing why exactly she spoke to her sleeping sister, but feeling better having done so. Quietly, she moved towards the door, pulling it open as gently as possible, not wanting to wake Arya. And there he stood, covered in blood, the burnt side of his face an almost vicious red while his hair stuck to his head, his cheeks, and neck. He was covered in sweat, the metallic scent of his armor mixing with the smell of his body and the blood.

Sansa squeezed through the small opening she had created between the door and the wall, shutting it behind her. She looked up at the man, once more at a complete loss of words, or what to do. Why did she always feel this way around him? Why would he fight with her, then return when she was in danger, and then take off _again_ once she was safe?

"Hows the pup?" He asked, his gruff voice for once somewhat relaxed, soft even. As if he could sense that Sansa was still troubled by what had happened.

"She's fine, thanks to you. Sleeping now." Sansa answered, lowering her gaze to the floor. "I cannot thank you enough for bringing her back to me. I owe you.. everything."

"Just doing my job." He answered, brushing her thanks off almost rudely. But Sansa knew by now that Sandor simply didn't do good with soft words, that he didn't know how to handle them, and much preferred to speak with his sword than his mouth. He was as stubborn as her father had been, in a way, though he very seldom reminded Sansa of the late Lord Stark at any other time.

"You didn't have to find her." Sansa pointed out softly, leaning against the door, still avoiding his gaze. "You didn't have to come see if I was safe."

"Lord Baelish's brothel is highly appreciated by many Lord's and Ser's alike, as you know, little bird. I was ordered to secure the area." He grunted, turning his broad back to her. She wondered if he couldn't stand the sight of her after what she had done.

"And you brought me back my sister." She wasn't going to back down, not on this. She was going to make him see that he did deserve her gratitude, her.. yes, admiration. How had this man, this good, _good_ man turned into what he was now? It pained her to see a good soul so tortured, so bitter. So angry.

"Aye. I brought you your sister." He answered, running a heavily gloved hand over his face, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "She wasn't harmed, was she?"

"No, Sandor. You kept her perfectly safe." Slowly, Sansa pushed herself away from the wooden door she was leaning against, moving to stand behind him, wrapping thin arms around his chest, her fingertips barely brushing each other as she encircled him. Pressing her forehead to the metal armor, she inhaled deeply. He smelled of death, and battle.

She could feel his body stiffen, turn as taunt as the string of a bow, right before the arrow was released to find its goal. He didn't seem very comfortable with any kind of touch, save the two times they had touched each other in the sanctuary of her room. And yet, Sansa didn't let go of him, simply holding him close as they stood in silence.

"I prayed for the god's to bring you back to me." She whispered, not sure if he could even hear her. "I prayed for them to save you. To give you strength."

"Your god's don't give a fuck about the likes of me, girl." He spat, moving out of her grasp, still refusing to turn to her. "They never have."

"Then maybe they were merciful for me." She said, tilting her head to the side, moving past him to look him in the eye, tired of starring at his back. "They did what I prayed for. They brought you back. Safely."

"A dog doesn't need the gods help to chase away the rats." He was snarling at her again, teeth bared as the burnt corner of his mouth twitched, irregularly, as if he didn't have enough muscle left to keep it steady.

"You are not a dog. Not to me. You may call yourself that, and you may even believe it to be true. You may let others demean you in that way. But I will not, and I will not let you do it while we are together either." She spoke fiercely, crossing her arms over her chest. "You are not a dog. You are a good, and brave, and honorable man."

"What do you know about honorable men, and bravery?" He ground out, turning his face to avert his gaze. "All you know are your stupid songs you chirp so well, little girl. You're..."

"A whore." Sansa finish his sentence, shrugging lightly. "Yes, I might be a whore. I may have never been to the great court of Kings Landing, or seen a knight fight in a tournament. But that does not mean that I cannot distinguish a good man from a bad one. And you, Sandor Clegane, are a _good_ man. Why do you fight it so? Do you enjoy scaring people?"

"No. I enjoy _killing_ people." He growled, moving closer to her suddenly, a movement so fast and fluid she had never expected it to come from a man so bulky, grasping her by her shoulder and shoving her against the wall. "Killing is the sweetest thing in the world, little bird. And it is what I do _best_."

"You don't scare me." She whispered, though having to swallow hard as her back ached from the impact against the hard stone wall. "You won't hurt me."

"I'm a dog, remember? The king's _dog._ And you, are a little bird. The way you sing your songs, surrounded by your little friends in the garden." He growled out, tightening his grip until she whimpered out. "You know _nothing_ of me, and you should fear me, little bird, for dogs do not like birds that try and play silly little games with them."

"Clegane." The clear voice of Lord Baelish rung out, making Sansa jump with surprise, not having expected anyone. "What is going on here?"

"Nothing, Lord Baelish." She quickly said, smiling sweetly at him as she straightened herself, nodding her head towards Sandor, who had luckily relented and released her shoulder. "I was thanking him for saving my sister."

"Ah yes, I have heard of his bravery." The slender man smiled, walking towards them. Sansa could feel the man before her tense, his hand sliding to his sword, but then thinking better of it, and simply falling to his side. "I must thank you as well, Clegane. I could not bare to see our sweet Sansa suffer such a tragic loss."

His eyes shone as he turned his gaze to her, and she smiled at him once more, the effort of keeping her smile in place, however, straining her muscles more than it should have. She was tired, exhausted really, and simply had no desire to smile at this man, or even talk to him.

"Yes, it was quite fortunate that he was here to protect us all, my Lord." She answered, trying hard to ignore the overpowering aura of the man that was still staring down at her, scowling. He wasn't pleased with her chirping, but right now, it didn't really matter. She wanted Lord Baelish to leave, to let them be, so that she could once more try to penetrate the iron walls Sandor seemed to have raised around him, that made him so rough and unyielding.

"Yes, I agree. Sansa dear, as far as I remember, we owe Clegane here a session either way, and with him saving one of ours, well.." The Mockingbird trailed off, gesturing for her room door. Right as she wanted to politely inform him that Arya was sleeping in her bed, Sandor spoke.

"I'll take another." The Hound grunted, turning away from the red head. "This one has other worries. And I've had her twice."

"As you wish, of course." Lord Baelish conceded, moving to turn from Sansa as the larger male stepped towards him. "I will make sure you are well tended to."

"You better. Was a fucking hassle to keep all your harlots safe." Sandor bit out, and without a second glance to Sansa, he walked away, leaving her behind startled and feeling nothing short of abandoned.

* * *

"Whats his name?" Arya prompted, watching her sister once more patch up a hole in her worn pants, as she had done so many times before. "Of the man that saved me. Do you know?"

"Clegane." Sansa answered, not looking up from her task, securing the patch on the considerably large hole. "Sandor Clegane. Why do you ask?"

"I want to say thank you." The brunette answered somewhat reluctant. "Will he be back soon?"

"I don't think so, Arya. He is a very busy man. He's the King's sworn sword." Sansa sighed, placing the fabric she held in her lap, starring almost forlorn at the needle in her hand. "And if he does, he might go to one of the other girls. I don't think we will see him again for a while."

"The sworn sword of the King?" Arya sounded surprised, and Sansa could understand her sisters reaction. She had been just as surprised as she had heard. "But he's not a Lord, or a knight, is he?"

"No Arya. He is not." Laying her work aside, she turned to look at the girl sitting bare legged on her bed. "But he has been with King Joffrey for a long time. Since he was born, if the stories are true."

"So he would be at the Red Keep all the time." Arya concluded, frowning at her sister, the expression in the young wolves eye causing Sansa to perk up, worried for what her sister planned to do now.

"Yes, he would be in the Red Keep. And you know that we cannot go there. That you should _never_ go there." She said firmly, appraising her sister carefully.

"I know." Arya answered calmly, giving her sister one of her grins that reminded Sansa so much of the way her older brother and father, the same grin etched on their face when they had been up to some sort of mischief, or teasing her.

"Good. That means you won't go there." She said, placing her hand against Arya's cheek. "Its too dangerous."

"I won't go there Sansa, I promise. I won't go inside the Red Keep." Her little sister hastily replied, placing her hand on the larger one of her sisters. "I promise."

* * *

Sandor Clegane was not a patient man. He knew it, and he made damn sure that everyone else knew it as well. He was the Hound, vicious, violent, and merciless. Highborn and commoners alike knew better than to anger him, for the consequences were never anything short of disastrous.

And so, when a maid knocked at his door one night, telling him that a little brown haired boy was asking for him at the Keep's front entrance, he wondered who could actually be so fucking _stupid_ to bother him during his leisure time.

Whoever it had been had given the girl a considerably valuable coin, one that Sandor had never seen before, silver as the moonlight and engraved with a dire wolf, a relict of the Stark family. It was only because of this token that he abandoned the full cup of wine on his table, instead filling the drink into his wineskin and securing it at his belt to go see who wanted to speak to him.

It wasn't until she saw the form he had only saved from certain death a few days ago that he realized who that little 'boy' was. Arya, Sansa's sister, the red headed whore from Littlefuck's brothel. _A whore_. He repeated to himself, having to force the word into his mind. He could never freely think of her as anything but Sansa, his little bird, and yet he forbade himself to think of her as anything _but_ a whore.

"What do you want, girl." He grunted as he starred down at her, dark brown eyes sparkling with anger. Why was she here? Had her sister not told her to stay away from the Red Keep, that the presence of a girl like her was never, under any circumstances, welcomed so close to all the Lords and Knights?

He could see from her frown that the child was taken aback by his rudeness, but the Hound simply couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck, to humor this girl and the silly ideas she probably had about him, because he saved her, and returned her to her family safe and sound.

"I wanted to thank you." She finally blurted out, fumbling with the pouch she carried at her thin leather belt. Sandor had never bothered to look at Arya, but now that he had no real reason not to, he noticed that her clothes were worn, patched up in various places, the belt much too wide for her, as it was slung around her hips twice, looking so thin it might well snap under the weight of the tiny training sword she called her weapon. "Here."

Finally having loosened the straps that had secured the pouch to the leather belt, she held it out to him. Sandor growled, taking a swing from his wineskin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And what is that?" He asked, not taking what she was holding out to him, honestly not interested in robbing a little girl from the only coin she had.

"I made it. Well. The pouch." She answered quietly, her arm not shaking as she kept holding it out to me. "One of the.." She stopped herself, perking his interest for just a second. "Someone taught me how to make them. I put your name on it. And inside is.. not much. But all I have."

Feeling almost sorry for the girl that was starring up at him fiercely, he relented, accepting the token of gratitude. And indeed, she had stitched his name into the bag, though it looked messy, far from perfect, and in all honesty simply ugly. _Fitting_, he thought grimly.

"I know its not good." She quickly added, shrugging as she hung her arms beside herself, kicking at a rock in front of her. "But.. with your name on it, they'll all know not to take it. The boys say a lot of people steal things."

"And you think they will not take it because it has my name on it?" He had to admit, he was almost amused by this. Maybe the girl was right, and the thief would spare a second thought to stealing something that belonged to the Hound. Maybe she wasn't as daft as he had first thought her. Of course, most of the low lives in this city couldn't read, but he doubted any of those people would ever get close enough to his things to steal this.

"If they like their head where it is." She answered quietly, but he could sense the grin on her face, and as much as he hated it, his mouth twitched into a smile as well. Shaking his head, he opened the pouch, letting the silver and gold coins, not even enough to buy a decent sour wine, drop into his hands. Taking her, to him ridiculously small, hand into his own, he placed the coins in her hand.

"I've got plenty of coin. I don't need yours. This.." He dangled the pouch in front of her face. "I will keep. Now be gone. If your sister knew you were here, she would faint."

"She's sad a lot." The girls words astonished him, and caught him off guard. "A lot more than she used to be. Sometimes, at night, she cries."

"And why would I give a fuck if she cries?" He snapped, his hands balling into fists at his side. Just the thought of that beautiful, pale face streaked with tears, the brilliant blue of her eyes clouded, like the day she had begged him to save her sister, was suffocating. And he hated himself for feeling the way he did. He was the Hound, vicious, a _dog_. He shouldn't feel this way.

"I don't know." Arya answered, looking up at him with a puzzled expression, as if she expected him to answer her question. When he didn't, she continued. "You cared enough to bring me back."

"You're a child. What was I going to do, let you die?" He grunted, once more taking a deep gulp from his wineskin. This evening was turning out to be nothing like he had imagined. He had wanted to drink himself into a stupor, and simply pass out on his bed, to then wake to a horrible case of being wine sick and start his duties.

"Could have left me on that tree. They probably wouldn't have found me. You didn't." Arya shrugged once more, moving to leave, but throwing him one last, lingering glance. "Thank You again. And.. If you visit her again. Come see me too. You can teach me how to fight properly. Then you won't have to save me."

A grin spread on her face, and then she ran off into the dark streets, to once more join her sister.

"Well fuck."

* * *

Sansa shrugged off her robe as she laid with a man that had been coming to her for weeks now, whispering into her ear promises of love, of saving her, of marrying her and taking her away. Sansa always had to force the laugh that wanted to slip past her lips back, smiling at him and whispering back the promises the man wanted her to make.

She had no illusion about his words. He was a Lord, and she was never going to be anything but a whore. He would never leave his wife, his family, risking his title and lands for the likes of her. But she humored him, for he paid her for exactly that, indulging the farce he seemed to enjoy so much.

He spoke to her of the beauty of the free cities, the exotic beings of Dorne, and so many other things he wanted to show her. Sansa couldn't help but giggle at the image of Arya running through the desert land's cities, completely in awe of the things she would see, if any of the things she was being told by this Lord were true.

She would have liked to take Arya to all seven kingdoms, to show her sister that the world didn't only consist of Winterfell and Kings Landing, and the horrible inn's they had been in right after escape. She wanted her sister to know the beauty of their world, and give her whatever she could ever wish for. But how would she ever be able to do that, when she was stuck here? Until Arya was old enough to go see these things for herself, she would have to stay here, with Sansa.

But one day, when Arya was ready. Sansa would give her all the money she had saved, and she would send her off, into a better life, and hopefully, a brighter future.

* * *

"Hound! Hound!" Arya cried as she caught his tall form, pushing through the horde of women that were blocking her way, making them shriek and call after her. But Arya didn't care, not when she had much more important things to do. Walking next to the man, she grinned up at him, turning to walk backwards. The man always demanded much more space than he really needed, and she was not afraid of running into anyone.

"What do you want, child? Haven't I told you to stay the fuck away?" He growled, not looking down at her. The girl had latched onto him, for whatever reason, pestering her with her presence whenever he was not in the Red Keep, following his heels like a pup that had finally found a playmate.

"No. You told me to be gone from the Red Keep. We're not at the Red Keep." She answered, entirely too pleased with her smart mouth for his taste. "We're just walking through the city."

"We are doing nothing, you bloody plague. I'm going to the tavern. You're following me." He grunted, shoving her out of his way by her shoulder. Though she stumbled, she didn't fall, and he made sure of that, not using his full strength, and shooting a quick glance in the direction he had pushed her into. He couldn't deny that Arya was smart, fast on her feet, and much wilder than her sister. And god's be damned, he liked the little bugger. She reminded him of the sister he once had... Wincing at only the thought of her, he was not at all surprised, but all the more irritated as the pup simply returned to his side. "You ain't going to give up, are you, plague?"

"What do you think, Hound?" The brunette shot back. "Why won't you just teach me?"

"Because I have better things to do than show little girls how to use their little swords." He grunted, playfully shoving her once more.

"Like drink and gamble? Sansa says those aren't healthy habits." Arya pointed out, moving to stand in front of Sandor, tilting her head to the side. "Please? Won't you just show me a _few_ things? The boys are all stronger than me, that's the only reason they always win!"

"The reason they always bloody win is because little girls aren't meant to fight with a sword. They're not meant to fight at all. They are supposed to cook, and clean, and.. sew things." He sighed, running his hand over his face. He didn't have the nerve for this, he didn't have the time, and he certainly had no will to do this but.. Those big, pleading brown eyes just like the eyes of a pup, like his sister's eyes when she had wanted something...

"That's not true. I was better at archery than my brother!" She chimed up, before realizing what she had said, and quickly shutting her mouth. "I mean.."

"Your brother?" He asked, the brow on the uninjured side of his face quirking upwards. "Didn't know you had a brother."

"Don't have one anymore." She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. It then came to him that he had never wondered how Sansa and Arya had come to be in Littlefucker's brothel. He knew nothing of their family, or their life before his eyes had fallen upon the divine beauty that was Sansa. But he knew the pain of losing a family member, a sibling.

"Your parents?" He asked quietly, though he wagered he already knew the answer. He was certain that if Sansa had anywhere else to house Arya, she would have.

"Dead. Just like my brothers. Everyone is dead, really." She shrugged once more, her brows furrowed as she tried to blink back the obvious tears that watered her eyes. And the Hound, for once, felt horrible for what he had done. "Its just Sansa and me, now."

He sighed, suddenly aware of the men and women watching the interaction between the Hound and the child, whispering behind raised hands. Grabbing Arya roughly by the shoulder, he steered her before him, all the while scowling. For the fucking love of the seven, his heart was too big for his own good.

* * *

"Its too heavy." Arya called, holding the wooden sword in both hands, despite what Sandor had told her.

"Its that heavy so you can build up some fucking muscle, plague. If you can't hold that, you'll never be able to hold a steel sword. Quit whining." He ground out, holding his own wood sword in his hand, something he hadn't held since he was a boy. "You wanted to learn."

Arya growled, much to his surprise, thinking that he had been spending way too much time with the pup if she was starting to mimic his behavior. But he had never been able to shake the pity he felt for her since the short conversation they had about her family. She had no man to look after her, no father or brother, not that he wanted to take that role. But the only man she was around on occasion was the Mockingbird, and gods be damned, he wasn't going to leave an impressionable little girl in the fangs of that treacherous snake, allowing him to be the only male to look up to. Not if he could help it.

Every week, when he was off to spend his free day in one of the taverns, Arya somehow managed to find him, and making her swear by her own life that she would not tell anyone, he would lead her down to a platform on the coast, where no curious eyes or ears would be close enough to spread the rumor that he had taken on a pup, and teach her what he knew. She did well, for a child, a girl, though he kept these thoughts to himself. He would work with her until she was panting, sweating through her worn clothing, before sending her off and indulging in the activities he had set out to indulge in. Drinking and gambling.

Instead of visiting the brothel himself, he now let the wenches that sat in the tavern entertain him, severing all ties to the woman he seemed practically incapable of forgetting. The only thing in his life that reminded him of her was her sister, and when he watched as she charged him, fearless, he couldn't help but think of how different the sisters were, like day and night. Arya had none of the grace Sansa possessed, nor the ability to chirp sweet words. She said what she thought, even when it got her in trouble. He enjoyed her outspoken nature, the way she let him curse at her, not taking his harsh words to heart, but ignoring them, knowing, without him having to tell her, that he liked her. Although he made it a constant point of telling her the opposite. The pup would simply grin at him, or shoot back a smartass comment, making him smile more often than he liked.

Never had he thought he would ever feel so protective over a girl again, not since his sister had died, and yet here he was, feeling protective about a pair of sisters.

* * *

Stepping out of the Keep, Sandor breathed deeply. The day was barely beginning, the streets still empty, the sun only now starting to rise. He felt wine sick from the feast that had been held in honor of the Kings name day, and he fully intended to remedy this situation with more dornish wine, and gambling. He would simply have to shove Arya a little harder than normally, make her see that he was in no mood to indulge her wish to learn today. He never got far enough away from the Keep to actually do so.

"Hound!" Ser Meryn called, pulling his attention towards him, his eyes flicking over the knights form. If was what the man was holding on to that caught his eye. "Look what we've found!"

"Let me go!" Arya yelled, struggling as the knight held her by the back of her neck, obviously pressing down harder than he really had to. "I said let me go!"

"Ser Ilyn found her lurking around the doors. Thought we'd keep her until you woke up." He grinned, obviously amused with the fact that the girl had been waiting for him. "She said she was here to see you, and rumor has it you've taken on a mutt pup."

Sandor growled, feeling fury rise in his body as the corner of his mouth twitched lightly. He had _told_ Arya time and time again to not come so close to the Keep, that she would get in trouble one of these days, but the stupid girl never _fucking listened._ And now she got what she had coming for a very long time now.

"Let me go!" Arya demanded once more, squirming in the Ser's grip, blinking back the tears, and the sight was almost enough for him to draw his sword and cut off the mans hand.

"She's just a child, Meryn. Why do you care what she does?" He grunted quietly, forcing his voice to sound even, not bothered by the girls obvious suffering of being ridiculed by the King's knights. "Have you nothing better to do but catch strays?"

"So its true, aye?" Ser Meryn inquired, grinning widely at Sandor. They had never liked each other, and now the man was taking it out on a little girl because of him. He wasn't sure if he hated himself or the knight more right in that moment.

"And even if it were, it would be none of your business. Let the child go. She has done no harm." He answered, feeling the scarred part of his face heating as his anger grew.

"Actually, we think she stole this." The male held his hand out to Ser Ilyn, and the man put a sword into his hand, about as long as Arya stood tall. "Must have stole it during the early morning hours."

"Bullshit." He ground out, watching as Arya couldn't hold her tears any longer. "She could barely hold the bloody thing, and you think she stole it, and got away without anyone noticing?"

"We noticed." Meryn said quietly, obviously sensing that the Hounds patience with him was running out, throwing the supposedly stolen sword to the ground. "She'll be treated as every thief, pup of yours or not."

"She ain't no pup of mine." He growled out, his hand going for the hilt of his sword. "And she ain't no thief either. Let her go Meryn, or so fucking help me, it'll be your hand she'll wear around her neck for good luck."

"Easy there, Clegane." The Ser warned, grabbing for his own sword. "Wouldn't want to be put in the kennel. What would the King say if he heard you attacked one of the King's Guard for a peasant?"

"Sandor!" Arya squealed out, now obviously distressed, the Knight's thick fingers digging deeply into the skin of her neck.

"Aye, she even calls you by your name!" The mocking tone in the male's voice made him want to shove his sword straight through his chest, and he could only resist by reminding himself that starting a fight would not save the girl. If Meryn meant it, she would lose her pretty little face long before he had reached her. "You still denying she's your pup?"

"Let her go." He growled out once more, but he couldn't keep his stare on the male, his eyes flickering to the struggling girl every few seconds, desperately wishing that she would just slip out of his hand and run, while he fought it out with the fellow Guard.

"She still needs to be punished. No worries, I'll go easy on your pup, Clegane." Meryn answered, turning Arya to face him swiftly, bringing down his hand on her, striking her twice, the slap echoing through the streets. It was more than he could bare. No one, not even a fucking knight was going to beat a little girl for doing nothing but waiting for him, the Hound.

He roared, pulling the knights attention to him for just long enough, as Arya shoved him away from her, her lip split and bleeding. He didn't have time to look at her as his sword came down on his opponents weapon, turning in a circular motion, aiming to strike the man in the back.

"Enough!" Sandor immediately recognized the voice, and lowered his weapon, just as Ser Meryn. "Why are two men of the Kings Guard battling openly in the streets? And why the _fuck_ is that little boy crying?!"

Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, moved toward them, the dwarf's armor reflecting in the light of the upcoming sun. "You are both lucky that it is too early for many to be out, or you would have had a grander audience than any tournament."

"The girl." Meryn nodded toward Arya, and Sandor moved to stand between the man and the girl, shielding her. "Stole a sword."

"Ser Meryn, are you telling me that this little girl was able to sneak into the Red Keep, then into the weaponry, and out with a steel sword that stands two inches higher than herself, without being noticed until now?" The Imp asked quietly, quirking a brow at the knight. "Clegane, bring her to me."

Sandor ground his teeth, turning to Arya who was suddenly right behind him, still sobbing silently as she touched her hand to her lip. Gently, he placed his hand at her back, pulling out a tissue and handing it to her as he moved closer to the youngest of the Lannister siblings.

"Now, now." Tyrion scolded her as she came to a stop before him, serious eyes searching her face. "Why don't you tell me what happened, child. Do not be afraid. You will not be hurt again."

Uncertain, Arya looked up at the Hound, but he simply gave her a small nod, ushering her towards Tyrion more. Much could be said about the Imp. He enjoyed his wine and whores a little too much, and he did not know the first thing about battle, all of this was true. But he was just.

"I.. I was waiting for S-.. the Hound." Arya started quietly, uncertain what she was to say and what not. "And the Ser suddenly grabbed me from behind, dragging me here. The other one went inside to get the sword. They waited for him to come out. I swear I didn't steal anything!"

"I believe you, child." Tyrion said quietly, taking out his own handkerchief, gently dabbing at Arya's lip as the one she had been given by Sandor hung uselessly in her hand. "I couldn't have lifted it, and you and I are about the same height. Though you will outgrow me one day, of course. And I simply cannot believe that little girl like yourself could have gotten past the guards inside, much less escape their detection _twice_."

The kind smile the girl was given seemed to relax her enough to smile back in return, once more looking up at Sandor, who still had his hand pressed against her, making sure he stood so that none of the other men had a chance to see her, much less get to her, without him knowing.

"It seems this was a simple misunderstanding." Tyrion announced, loud enough for the other two men to hear, walking over casually, followed by his sell sword Bronn, who Sandor hadn't even noticed joining them. "Clegane had every right to protect the child. A child you struck without reason, Ser Meryn. I believe some retribution is in order. Child, what is your name?"

"Arya, my lord." The girl answered, watching as the Imp walked towards the knights, but not moving even an inch away from the Hound.

"Arya here, Sir Meryn, will from now on be _welcome_ in the Red Keep. She will be my guest henceforth. And if anyone lays a hand on her, I will make sure the Hound is the one to make it stop." Sandor grinned with grim satisfaction. Oh how he would enjoy teaching the arrogant knight a lesson or two. But the Lord continued. "I believe some coin for her is the least you can do, Meryn. I will make sure that it reaches her. Now, off you go, all of you. And do not let this happen again."

Sandor bowed his head briefly, muttering out 'My lord' quietly, moving Arya out of harms way. Only then it occurred to him that he would not be able to send the girl home without a good explanation, one that he would have to deliver to his sister himself.

* * *

Sandor didn't speak as he brought Arya home, simply pressing his hand to her back as they walked, not knowing what to say or do to comfort the child. He had never been around children much, not even his sister, until she was old enough to come join him in his games.

How was he supposed to make the little girl feel better, when he himself felt like shit? He blamed himself, blamed himself for not making sure that she stayed away, for not being stricter with her. For getting drunk and being late. For the bruises and injuries she had sustained, waiting for him to join her.

Arya was still trembling as they walked towards the brothel together, her sobs silent, but still there. They were only a few more feet away from the door to her home when she suddenly stopped, making him frown down at her.

"What now, child?" He asked, waiting for her to answer, but instead of an actual, proper answer, a new wave of tears came crashing down on the child as she flung her arms around his legs, burying her face into his armor.

"Please don't tell Sansa! She'll be so upset at me! I don't want to get in any more trouble!"

The way those words were spoken tugged at the strings of his heart, and sighing heavily, he lowered himself to his knee's, wrapping his arms around her quivering form after a quick glance around, to make sure they weren't being watched.

"You will have to tell her, pup. She'll hear of it eventually. She should hear it from you." He murmured, wanting nothing more but to pull back as Arya latched onto him even more, her hands coming around his neck as she pressed her tear covered face against his cheek. Trying to sooth her as quickly as possible, he rubbed her back, slowly, in wide circles, and by some miracle, it seemed he had done the right thing.

Arya calmed, and after a few minutes pulled back, wiping the remaining tears off her face with her sleeve, nodding slowly.

"You mustn't worry." He said, relieved that the child was no longer clinging to him. "It'll be alright."

* * *

"Arya!" Sansa called out as her sister entered her room, closely followed by Sandor. Her sister looked roughed up, the bruises on her neck easily noticed, and her worry only worsened when she saw the busted, swollen lip. "What in the name of the seven heavens happened?"

"I got in trouble." Arya answered quietly, not looking at her sister, instead backing right against Sandor's legs, pressing her small form into him, her hand flying upward to grab his. "Sandor saved me, though. Again."

"In trouble? What did you do?!" Sansa realized she sounded hysteric, the pitch of her voice much higher than normally as she knelt before her sister, not caring that her robe slipped open, gently cupping the girls cheeks. "Who did this?"

"Ser Meryn." The Hound offered quietly as Arya didn't answer, gripping his hand with all the strength she possessed. "He grabbed her in front of the Red Keep."

"The Red.." Sansa whispered, exasperated. "Arya, didn't I tell you to stay away from that place?! I _told_ you not to go there!"

"It wasn't my fault!" The brunette answered petulantly, finally looking her sister in the eye. "He's a bully, and he wanted to get me in trouble!"

"He thought she had stolen from the Red Keep." Sandor said, trying to pull back his hand, feeling more than uncomfortable with the child clutching on to him, but his attempt was in vain. "It was cleared up, but not before he struck her."

"Oh Arya..." Sansa shook her head, covering her face with her hands as she knelt at her sisters and the Hounds feet. She was overwhelmed with the entire situation. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Lord Tyrion said I could come back! He said I was his_ guest_ from now on. And he said we'd get coin for that man hitting me." Arya said, her voice soft, taken aback by her sisters despair. "Sansa, I'm okay. Sandor didn't let him hurt me much, he fought him! You should have seen-"

"Enough, Arya." Sansa whispered, halting her sisters words. "Go to the kitchen, get a wet cloth for your lips, and then go to your room. We will talk about this later."

"But Sansa-"

"Now Arya!" The red head repeated, more fiercely, slowly rising to her feet. "Go."

Arya looked helpless. _Too small for her own good_, he thought warily, gently pulling her hand from his own.

"Off you go, plague." He said, not unkindly, as he gently pushed her through the door. "Think of this no longer."

And with a last insecure glance at the Hound, Arya made her way to the kitchen without another word.

* * *

"Thank you for saving her again." Sansa said, shaking her head as she wiped away a stray tear. "I don't know what to do anymore, everything I say, she does the opposite..."

Her voice trailed off, almost breaking on her last word. Shaking her head once more, she took a deep breath to steel herself, moving up to look him in the eye.

"I am sorry you had to intervene again. God's know you have already done enough for us."

It was the way he looked at her that reminded her of the fact that she was only wearing her robe, and that it was open, showing her body freely to the man that had rejected her weeks ago. Quickly tying it once more, she moved to the small nightstand, pulling out the few coins she had been slipped by other customers, a token of their affection, or appreciation.

"It isn't much, but it is all I have." She said quietly, moving to hand her money to him. "I don't know how else to repay you for your kindness."

"She's a pup, Sansa. They get in trouble." He murmured, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. "Keep your coin."

"I insist." She answered, placing the money on the table. "You can take it, or the next customer will. I am not keeping it."

"Bloody Hell girl, what is it with you and your sister?" He growled out, taking a step toward her. "I don't need your fucking coin. I have enough of my own. Use that to buy the girl new clothes."

"I already told you I am not going to keep it." She snapped, ignoring his comment about her and her sister. "Just take it and be on your way, Sandor, I know you are sick of me."

"Sick of you?" He almost shouted, turning towards the table, bringing down his fists against the wood with a roar, breaking it in two, the coins that had laid on it rolling over the floor, falling against the stone.

Frightened by his anger, Sansa backed away from him, until the back of her knee's bumped against the edge of her bed. Wide eyed she stared at his form, his chest rising and falling heavily as he breathing was labored, as if he had just returned from a long battle.

"I could _never_ be fucking sick of you." He finally rasped, seemingly in control of his fury once more as he turned his head towards her. Once more, she could see the pained expression she had witnessed on their first night. And as if pulled by invisible strings, she moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You never came back." She said quietly, reaching out for his face, but he jerked away from her, snarling like a rabid dog.

"Because it isn't _safe_." He growled, running a broad hand through his hair. "Don't you see that, you stupid girl?!"

"See what?" She asked, moving towards him once more. "What do I not see, Sandor?"

"That _bad fucking things_ happen around me." He shouted, moving back from her until his back hit the wall, and he had no where else to go. Sansa kept advancing on him, her heart constricting with the way his eyes darted from side to side, like an injured dog looking for a chance to escape some sort of danger. But Sansa didn't mean to hurt him, never could, even if she tried. Even if she wanted to, and oh, as he left her standing alone in the hallway she had _wanted_ to.

But this man, so tall and strong that none other stood a chance against him in a fair battle, when he looked at her the way he was now, uncertain, pained, angry and, yes, scared... It melted her heart, made her forget that he had slighted her, and made her remember just how good he had been to her and her sister.

"Do they?" She tilted her head to the side, resting her hands against his heaving chest, letting her hands brush over his dented armor. "The only things I remember.. is the first night you came to see me, and protected me from pain. When you saved my sister from the riot. When you brought her back to me now, fighting a knight for her."

"She was only there to see _me._" He growled, grabbing her by the arms, shaking her, as if he meant to shake sense into her. "She wouldn't have been hurt had she _stayed the fuck away."_

"And I'm sure you told her to stay away just as much as I did. She doesn't listen. You said it yourself, Sandor, she's but a child. They get in trouble." She soothed, placing her hands over his, stroking the back of his hands with her thumbs. "And you were there to protect her. Again."

"Stop looking at me like that, foolish bird." He groaned, turning his face from her, his eye clenched shut, the corner of his burnt mouth twitching almost uncontrollably now. "Fucking bird with your bloody chirping."

"I'm not chirping Sandor, I never have.. Not to you." She whispered, and gathering all her courage, she dared to move her face to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Never have I chirped to you, and never have I lied to you."

"Bloody hell girl!"

And suddenly his arms were around her, pulling her against his chest so hard it almost knocked the breath out of her. His lips were on her's only a fraction of a second later, devouring, tasting her like a drowning man. Moaning in reply, her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at it, pulling a low growl from him.

She was being moved over to the bed, hastily pulling at the straps of his armor, desperately clawing at the metal, trying to get rid of it as quickly as she possibly could, while he simply grabbed the back of her robe and tore it off her body, the ripped fabric already forgotten before it had even touched the ground.

She was burning for him, like a fire bright enough to reach each and every dark corner in the seven kingdoms. The way her body seemed to fit just perfectly against his, the way his hands were just big enough to grasp her breasts in the right way to cause her the most pleasure, the way he tasted and his scent.. it was all she could do to not expire in his arms right there and then.

When she finally had him out of his chest plate, she immediately pulled of the fabric hiding his muscled chest from her, hands and lips roaming over his scarred skin the moment it was revealed to her. He was panting, grunting quietly as he, in turn, ran his hands all over her body, laying her on the bed. She watched as he moved to undress completely, throwing his things carelessly to the floor before joining her, covering her body with his own as his lips attached themselves to her neck, sucking and biting, making her moan and squirm beneath him.

"Little bird.." he bit out, his hands moving to spread her legs, running his thumb over her folds, moaning out as her love juices smeared across his thumb. Bringing it up to his mouth, he licked it clean, eyes fixed on her's, making her blush. She had never felt this passionate, had never seen anything that both embarrassed and excited her so, and she couldn't help herself. She pushed her body lower, her womanhood connecting with his thigh, rubbing herself shamelessly against him. "You're already dripping for me."

Sansa could not have been able to answer the simple question where up and down was right now, mostly because she couldn't care less. Her universe had shrunk around her, and all that counted was the man that was now gripping her breasts, bringing his mouth down on her buds, as he had done before, while he rubbed his thigh against her most intimate place. She could feel her body contracting, her muscles below the waist clenching in desperate need as he stilled his thigh, pulling her upwards, pressing his burning hot cock against her, rubbing against her in a way that made her see stars.

Her nipples were now impossibly hard, and he moved lower, pulling his member back as he did, making her protest with a desperate cry, her nails digging deeply into the skin of his biceps once more. Oh, she simply could take no more of this sweet torture. Bucking her hips upwards, she screamed in pleasure as his tongue circled her clit, making her squirm so violently he was barely able to keep his mouth in place, even with his arms holding her down, drinking her fluids as she unraveled, but giving her no chance to unwind.

Her body had barely relaxed enough for her to breath as he continued his onslaught on her, making her weep tears of pleasure as she seemed to completely lose her mind, reducing her to a wanton mess as she brought her legs up to her chest, spreading them as wide as they would go, giving him as much access as she possibly could.

"Sandor, please, please, no more, need you.." She whimpered, tugging at his arms, incoherently begging him to finally push into her, to join their bodies, to stop teasing her. Her words seemed his undoing as he moaned lowly, pushing his body upwards again, one hand holding him up as his other grabbed hold of his member, pushing into her gracelessly. It was all she had ever wanted, absolute perfection and absolution, liberating her in ways she had never thought possible.

"Fuck, Sansa.. look at me, little bird." He groaned, and her eyes snapped open to stare into his, not having been aware that they had fallen shut, but now being met with the smoldering brown of his. She was unable to form words, to even grasp a coherent sentence as he drove himself into her, again and again, and she watched his every expression, the way he ground his teeth, the way the sweat that had formed above his brow ran down the side of his face, the way his nostrils flared as he thrust harder.

And then, just as she felt as if he would melt into her, that the world would come lose at the seems, she came, taking him over the edge with her, feeling as he filled her with his seed, to then slump down on her, his head resting between her breasts.

Never had she loved him more than in this moment.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

Sansa looked down at the man resting on her chest, running her fingers through his hair gently, listening to his even breathing. She wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep, or if he was simply relaxed, but it made no difference to her. He was back in her arms, she could feel his warmth, his skin against hers, his broad hands on her body.

"Little Bird.." He finally whispered, breaking the silence. She looked down at him, suffering the loss of his body as he moved off her, laying beside her, his head turned towards her, their gazes connecting.

"Sandor." She answered quietly, moving to lay on her side, wanting to reach out for him, to pull him back, to rest her head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. She wanted to be close to him, as close as possible, all the time. And yet she knew it was just a fantasy, a dream, that it could never be.

They starred at each other, neither speaking, neither finding words to fill the silence, both afraid it could destroy the fragile peace between them. And so, they simply looked at each other for what seemed an eternity, neither moving further away, nor closer together.

Sansa could feel the air between them bristle, fill with energy, urging her to become lost in his eyes, in his body once more. But there was so much that needed to be said, so much that Sandor had to know. That she loved him, that she hated being here, that he was the only one she wanted. That she wasn't playing any games with him, that all she had said was true.

"Your sister is a right plague." He finally said, breaking the tension between them, making her laugh.

"Yes, she is. But she's all I've got." Sansa replied, finally feeling comfortable enough to move closer to him, placing her head on his shoulder, the tips of her fingers dancing over his chest. "I worry about her a lot. I fear she might get into such trouble one day that she won't be able to get out of."

"Aye. She seems to attract trouble the way a corpse attracts flies." He grumbled quietly, wrapping a strong arm around the lithe form that was currently pressed to him. "But Lord Tyrion has taken an interest in her, fuck knows why. She won't be hurt again by anyone from the King's Guard. Anyone that's under the King, really. At least until that fucker Tywin comes and joins his family."

"He will then be the hand of the King, yes?" She asked, looking up at him, her hand stilling over his heart. "Lord Tyrion is only the Hand for so long?"

"Aye, lass. The Imp is Hand until his father rejoins them at the Red Keep. Rumor has it that he is gathering all his soldiers, further up in the north. War is coming, little bird. Stannis, Roberts brother, is not going to let Joffrey simply take the throne. Rumor has it he has joined forces with a witch." He grunted quietly, reaching out a hand to run his fingers across her cheek.

"A witch?" She asked, her eyes widening as she starred up at him. "He's using magic to win the war?"

"If the rumors are worth two shits, then aye. Some say it was a curse that killed his brother, Renly. Man was a fool for thinking he would survive a war. Too smooth, too soft that one." He shook his head, sighing deeply.

"You liked him." She asked carefully, not wanting to anger the Hound, but curious none the less.

"He was better than the rest of the bloody lot. Smart, kind. Whoever put the idea in his head that he would be a good king was a bloody fool."

"So you don't think he would have made a good king?"

"Aye, he would have. But he was never going to win the war. No matter how many men he had." Sandor shook his head, carefully shifting his body, sitting up and leaning his back against the stone wall behind him, pulling her to sit in his lap, facing him. "Joffrey is a sick fuck, with a disregard for anyone but himself. Stannis is a warrior. They both have no issue sending their men to die, and to kill who needs to be killed, may it be their brother or their sister. Renly was a talker, a politician. Got sick when he saw blood."

Sandor paused for a moment, starring passed her as if deeply in thought, brown eyes unfocused for the fraction of a second before he shook his head anew, seemingly abandoning whatever trail of thought he had been following.

"Was a kind man, but kind men drop like flies in Kings Landing, little bird. No one believed Renly would be King aside of himself."

Sansa pondered the new information silently. If Stannis wanted the throne, he would sooner or later have to come to Kings Landing. After all, the current King would have to be captured and/or killed for another King to take his place. Which meant that Sandor was absolutely right, War was coming. And she and Arya would be caught in the middle of it. The thought alone chilled her to the bones.

"Will we be able to fight him off? Are there enough men?" She asked timidly, looking up at the man she loved. How much he wanted to simply kiss him, and ask him to take her and Arya away, somewhere else. To abandon his post, and forget every vow he had sworn to make sure they would all be safe and survive. He was the King's Sworn Sword. He would have to fight once the battle was brought to their door.

"I don't know, lass. With Tywin's men in the north, and Renly's men joining Stannis as fast as their bloody feet will carry them.. Its not going to be an easy battle. But the Imp seems to take the threat serious, unlike the King himself. And the Queen Regent isn't stupid, cruel, aye, but not stupid. I don't think either of them are idling around." He sighed once more, moving his body further upwards to locate his wineskin. "Be a good lass, bring me my wine, little bird."

Sansa frowned at him for a second, not particularly pleased that he was going to start drinking already, but moved to retrieve the wanted item anyway. She could tell that the many things happening were laying heavy on his mind, and his heart, and they did on her's as well.

"Why is Tywin Lannister in the north?" She asked as she handed him the wineskin, curling up against him again as he took a sip from his wineskin. It smelled sour, and she wrinkled her nose at the scent. She never understood how Sandor seemed to be able to drink the liquid down as if it were water. "Why isn't he with his grandson?"

"Wildlings, or so I'm told." He grunted quietly, shrugging lightly. "Seems the Night's watch is being overthrown. No fucking surprise. They send thieves and rapists up there, expecting them to defend the wall with their life. Those fuckers don't know their ass from their head, most never held a sword."

"My brother wanted to go to the Nights Watch." Sansa mumbled absently, her fingers drawing little circles on the broad chest she was resting against.

"Did he now?" Sandor looked down at her, eying her carefully. They had never spoken about her past, nor about his, but his didn't matter. He wanted to know everything about her though, everything from where she was born to why her family was dead, and how she had ended up here, in the Mockingbirds brothel, where he had found her.

"Yes." She answered, shrugging lightly. "Said he wanted to protect the realm from the wildlings, and whatever else lurked behind the wall. I was always scared of the day he would leave. Father said that the men of the Nights watch were always in danger. I didn't want to receive a raven telling me he's dead. I don't have to worry about that anymore now."

"The pup said they were all dead." Sandor replied quietly, tightening his arm around her, pulling her closer. Once again he was faced with the dilemma of having to comfort someone, and not knowing how. "How'd it happen?"

Sansa sighed, pressing her face into Sandor's neck. She wanted to tell him, tell him everything. Who she really was, who her family had been. That she was too afraid to reclaim the north, for fear that the attack had not, as she had first thought, been random. But that someone had sent those mean to kill the Stark family, though she could not come up with a reason why someone would want her family dead. And now, here she was, in the arms of the man she loved, unable to be truthful to him.

"We were attacked by some men. My brother made me and Arya hide, and.. when it was all over, and the men where gone, there was no one left but us." She shrugged lightly. At least it was somewhat the truth. "No one survived but us."

Images of her dead family flooded her mind, the way they had lain on the floor, surrounded by their own blood, eyes wide and unseeing, her father, her mother.. She could barely hold back the tears as she nearly choked on the sob that caught in her throat.

"Easy, lass." Sandor soothed her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing her shoulder with his thumb. Those being the only words of comfort he could offer, he simply held her against him, waiting for her to continue speaking.

"It was a long time ago." Sansa finally whispered, and she seemed to have calmed, to his great relief. "Arya and I came here, after."

"I imagine Littlefucker promised you a meal and a warm bed." He answered, not surprised when the girl nodded. "Aye, that's how he finds most of his whores. Girls that need a home, food.. Got no other place to go."

"Yes. And he has kept to his promise." She sighed, looking up at him, moving to press a kiss to his lips. "What about your family?"

Sandor grunted, looking away as he took a deep, long sip from his wine, scowling lightly as he noticed that the wineskin was already half empty. He would either have to drink less, or bring more wineskin's.

"Only my brother left. Gregor, the Mountain that moves." He shrugged lightly.

"Looks like we both come from broken homes." Sansa spoke softly, moving to take the wineskin out of his hand, placing it onto the bed, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead against his. "But.. we could find a new one."

"Aye lass, seems like it." He answered, grinning mirthlessly. "You might, little bird. Dog's like me, we don't find families."

"You're not a dog, Sandor. I wish you would stop calling yourself." She frowned, pulling back to look at him sternly, pressing her hands against his cheeks. "Look at me. You are _not_ a dog. You are a strong, good, smart man. A man that has saved me and my sister more than once. And you deserve to find happiness, even when you believe that only bad things happen to you. You found me and.. I refuse to believe I am a bad thing."

"Blood hell, Sansa, you and your pretty words." He grunted, reaching for his wineskin once more, but Sansa was quicker, taking it in her hand, moving away from him.

"Please don't." She said quietly, pressing the wineskin to her chest as he regarded her, his upper lip twitching angrily at the red head, slowly forming a scowl.

"Lass, if you know what's good for ya, you'll give it back. You can't deny a man his wine." He grunted, moving to his knee's and towards her, forcing her to move off the bed, now standing in all her naked glory as the sun light fell through the window, caressing her skin.

"You're always so angry when drunk, Sandor." She mumbled quietly, not looking at him, preferring to keep her gaze fixed to the floor. She knew she was angering her, but he was never as angry and hateful as he was when filled with wine and ale. "Must you always drink?"

"Sansa, for fucks sake, give it back." He growled, moving to stand before her, grabbing her wrist and pulling it towards him. Sansa looked up at him, and she could tell that she had reacted too slowly. His eyes were unfocused, his mind befuddled with the alcohol, and the way he was scowling told her that he was too far gone to reason with at this point.

"Fine." She snapped, pressing the wineskin against his chest before pulling away from him. "Have all the wine you want, but you won't be having it here. You keep snarling at me when you're drunk, and I'm not having that."

"Are you kicking me out?" Sansa felt fear blossom deep in her chest at his tone, wanting nothing but to back down and calm him. But she feared for him. Her father had always told her that a man dependent on wine and ale was a man in pain, a man trying to drink away his sorrow. And one day, he would drink too much, and go meet the Stranger.

"Yes. I am kicking you out." She said, bending down to pick up his clothes, throwing them at him. "Get dressed and come back to me once you've sobered. I cannot stand you when you are drunk."

"Can't stand me when drunk, eh, little bird?" He scowled, throwing the wineskin to the wall, grasping her by her arms, pulling her roughly to him, his chest to her back, his arms pressing her's to her side, making her unable to move. "Why's that, little bird? Can't take an ugly face and a foul mouth at once? Are the other men that come here less drunk than I am? Can you bare them easier than me, because they aren't ugly old dogs?"

"Let go." She whispered, feeling her heartbeat quicken by the way he held her, his member pressing hard against the firm mounds of her ass, growling quietly into her ear. "You are not yourself."

"Fuck that." He growled once more, turning her to look at him. "Look at me, little bird, look at me real good. This is who I am. This is who I always have been. Drunk or not. You best remember that."

Sansa swallowed, looking into his eyes, so filled with anger, darkened by the rage he felt, his thick eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled back to bare his teeth. She had seen him like this once before, when she had insisted on thanking him, and she wondered if she was pushing him too hard, if maybe she had approached him gentler about the wineskin, he would have relented.

"I do, Sandor. I will never forget your anger, nor your strength. I will never forget how dangerous you are." She whispered, reaching up her hand to gently stroke his cheek, not wincing as he sneered at her. "But you won't hurt me."

"Aye. I won't hurt you." He admitted gravely, eyes still sparkling with anger, releasing her as he picked up his clothing, slipping into it one piece after the other. Sansa watched him, at a complete loss of what to say. How was she ever going to gentle his rage?

"So you are going to leave?" She asked, slowly picking up the wineskin from the floor, frowning down at it, before simply holding it out to him.

"Aye lass, as I plan on being bloody drunk off my ass in an hour, and you can't stand to look at my ugly face any longer." He snapped, almost ripping the wineskin from her hand as he moved passed her. He was out the door before she could answer him.

* * *

Still fuming, Sandor reached the tavern, immediately ordering himself an ale, pushing a bag of coins into the young lad's hand, telling him to keep them coming, along with food, until he had enough. Already well accustomed with the fearsome man, and knowing he had a good deal of coin, the man did not protest, giving the man whatever he wanted as long as his coin covered it.

And so the Hound spent his day gambling and drinking, growling at whoever dared to speak to him about anything but the game they were playing, or sharing rumors about the upcoming war, and those involved in it. It never hurt to know what others did, and many of the men that came into the tavern were traveling, hearing of and seeing things he didn't.

It wasn't until late at night that he had finally had enough, tossing a few more coins at the owner, and making his way back to the Red Keep. He had every intention to simply fall into his bed, ignore the world around him, and not wake until the sun rose him to another day of his dull duty of protecting the King. His blood was on fire, fulling his rage, his fingers twitching for a fight. But he knew better than to start a drunken brawl.

"Sandor!"

The hound ground his teeth in frustration, but turned around none the less to find out who had dared to call him by his first name. And there the little plague was, running towards him, her lips once more bleeding.

"What the fuck do you want?" He growled out, too drunk to give thought to what he said, or how he said it. "After what happened this morning, I thought your sister would have had the good sense and locked you into your room."

But she ignored his words, and it wasn't until she came close enough to grab his hand that he saw the tears in her eyes, her cheek reddened, her pants torn over her right leg, blood seeping out of a small wound.

"You have to come, please!" She begged, pulling at his hand harshly, putting all her weight behind the tug. "Please! There's a man, he has a sword, he's scaring everyone!"

He could feel the rage rise even more inside him, a thick, black mass covering the inside of his veins, and his heart, at the thought of someone threatening his little bird and pup... _No, not mine._ He growled inwardly, willing himself to forget all about the red head and her hellion sister, that only seemed to bring pain and trouble into his life, as he did to them.

"Where are the bloody guards? Isn't it their job to take care of these kind of things?" He snapped at her, refusing to much a single inch. He knew that his anger from the fight with Sansa was clouding his mind, that he wasn't being reasonable, that he should not ask questions, but simply follow her. And yet he couldn't.

"They.. They're all dead." She whispered, looking up at him, horrified. "He killed them all! Please, he's going to kill everyone else, too, please!"

"Bloody fucking hell." He cursed, but finally moved, pulling his sword from its sheet. "Go to the Keep. Get Lord Tyrion, or his sell sword, Bronn, whoever you can find first. If you see Lord Baelish, tell him as well. Fucker should know what happens when he's away."

And with that, he sprinted off, feeling the adrenaline chasing away the thick veil around his mind, created by the sheer amount of ale he had drank. As he got to the brothel, he was met with the dead bodies of the two guards that were meant to guard the door, their heads laying a few feet from their bodies.

"Fuck." He ground out, but pushed forward. The next guards he met were almost cut in two, something only one man he knew of could do. Swallowing, he followed the screams that were now audible, and soon he was met with exactly who he had expected.

Gregor.

* * *

Arya ran as quickly as her feet would carry her, heading straight for the Red Keep. She could barely breath, her lungs stung her so, but she had to keep going. The man she had seen had been so tall, so broad, he even overshadowed the Hound with his size. And whoever he was, he had no heart and no soul, for he had cut the men down as if they were puppets. They hadn't even pulled their swords that he had cut threw their bodies. A man without honor.

She had just reached the large wooden entrance to the keep when the door swung open, a bald, heavily overweight man walking out, and she pushed him aside, squeezing herself past him and into the Keep.

"Lord Tyrion!" She called out, realizing she had no idea where the man was, or if he was even here. But she had to get help, he had to find someone, anyone. The Hound was alone with the man, aside of the girls that didn't know how to handle a sword any more than they knew how to skin a rabbit. And so she ran, calling for the man, pushing past Lord's and Ladies, knocking one over in her haste, but not looking back.

"What do you want, child?" A dark skinned woman asked, the way she spoke a clear indication that she was from far away. She looked her up and down, shaking her head lightly. "What do you need from the King's Hand? How did you even get in here?"

"Please, you need to help me find Lord Tyrion, the Hound sent me, he's fighting this horrible man all on his own!" Arya blurted out, stumbling over her words as she looked up at the woman pleadingly. "Lord Tyrion said I could come here any time, that I'd be his guest, but I never have and I can't find him on my own-"

"Calm yourself, Arya." A voice called, making both her and the woman turn, just to see the stunted form of Tyrion Lannister approaching. "Who is he fighting?"

"I don't know, my Lord, but he stood higher than the Hound. He killed all the guards, he's after the girls too, and my sister-" Tyrion raised his hand, silencing the young girl, turning to the woman.

"Get her into my room, see to her injuries, and get something to sooth her nerves from the Maester." He instructed, and the woman nodded, softly taking Arya's hand in her own.

"No, I don't want to go to your room, I need to go to my sister!" She cried out, struggling to free herself.

"Don't worry, child, help is on the way." The male said, giving her a soft smile, before nodding to the woman.

And then the Imp turned, beckoning his sell sword with him, walking as quickly as his short strides would carry him. Arya starred after him until she was pulled from her stupor by the woman, a soft hand smoothing over her hair.

"Worry not, little one. Lord Tyrion will take care of everything. He is a fierce lion." She soothed, and Arya couldn't help but believe her. Because if she didn't, she would have to accept that her sister was probably dead by now.

* * *

Sandor barged into the room, the wooden door slamming heavily against the stone wall, turning all heads towards him. The scene before him made bile rise in his throat.

There his brother stood, a young girl pressed to his chest, one arm around her waist, the other holding a blade to the poor things throat as she silently wept. The rest of the girls, including Sansa stood in the corner of the room, starring at the two men in turns, frozen to the spot they stood on.

"Ah, little brother." Gregor drawled, pushing the girl to the floor. She shrieked, catching herself with her hands, whimpering quietly before crawling away. He didn't spare her a second thought. The man before him was deadly enough, without him being distracted.

"Gregor." He growled back, his knuckles whitening as his grip on his swords hilt grew tighter.

"I was just trying to find out which of these little whores was your favorite. Word has it that you have taken a liking to one of them. And her pup as well." Gregor's lips curled into a grin as he moved towards his brother, pushing the small blade he held back into its sheet, moving to pull out his longsword. "You see, _darling_ brother, I never did get back to you for what you did at the tournament."

Sandor's thoughts briefly flicked back to the tournament, where his brother had viciously decapitated his own horse, to then charge on the unfortunate knight that had gotten the better of him, and unseated him from his horse. He had saved the man's life that day by keeping his brother away from him, and in return had been announced winner of the tournament.

"Cost me quite a bit of coin, that day." Gregor spoke slowly, almost thoughtfully as he held his sword, looking down at the gleaming blade he held, before his black eyes flicked back to his brothers face. "Your whore and pup will make up for that."

"You leave them the fuck alone." Sandor growled. "It ain't their fault. Your problem is with me, not them."

"Aye, but hurting you isn't half as much fun as hurting them. You always do blame yourself for these things, don't you, Sandor?" His brother was still grinning, his words soft, but the Hound wasn't fooled. His brother was at his most dangerous when he was this calm. "The little bitch you call your pup might have gotten away, but one of these pretty girls is the one you fancy. Poor thing, really, having to stare into your face time and time again."

The pair of men started circling each other, neither willing to move first. But then, Gregor surged forwards, bringing down his sword onto his brothers with all his might, and Sandor had to bring up all his power to deflect the hit. Gregor didn't seem irritated by this as he moved back again, watching his brother's every move.

"You've gotten stronger little brother." He remarked softly, the spark in his eyes going unnoticed by everyone but Sandor. "Still not enough to protect your bitch."

And again he surged forward, the sound of steel meeting steel deafening in the stone room, making the young woman cry out. Blow after blow his brother brought upon him, and Sandor fought him back, the men moving across the room, though he did everything he could to keep them away from the women. He didn't dare look at them, or even think of them, for he knew his eyes would search out the one he really cared about, the one he needed to protect at all costs, making Gregor's game all the easier.

He hoped that if they simply battled each other until Lord Tyrion had been reached, and the help arrived, he would get away with it. That he would never find out it was Sansa, the beautiful red head, that Sandor cared for, and that her life would be safe. It was her own foolishness that destroyed all his hope.

Gregor was now fighting his brother in earnest, and Sandor was finding it harder and harder to keep up with his older brother. He was too slow, only this one time, and he could feel the metal of the Mountains sword biting into his side, making him scream out in pain.

"Sandor!"

_Stupid little bird.._ He thought as he heard her call out for him, feeling the blade being pulled from the wound, forcing him to sink to one knee, panting hard. His vision became blurred for a second, and suddenly he felt arms wrapped around him, strands of hair tickling his face and neck, hair so red it looked almost like blood.

"My, my..." Gregor said quietly, looking upon the scene before him. "So this is the one.. looks like she values you for more than your coin, dear little brother. Fuck knows why she would. Or do you pay her well enough that she is willing to protect you? Maybe she hopes you will take care of her runt pup once she is gone."

"Fuck you, Gregor." The Hound ground out, struggling to his feet, ignoring the way his little bird clung to him, and pushing her behind him. The pain was crippling, the blood seeping from the wound freely. He would not be able to stand long, much less fight his brother in this condition. And yet, he could feel energy surge through his body. He was now the only thing that stood between his brother and Sansa, his little bird, and god's be damned, he would take him to hell with himself if he had to, just to keep her safe.

"Big words for a wounded street dog like yourself, brother." Gregor answered, amusement dancing in his voice. "I will make sure you learn some manners after I killed your bitch."

Sandor was about to reply when, and he thanked the heavens for it, more men came pouring through the door, lead by Tyrion Lannister.

* * *

"Ah, Ser Gregor." Tyrion said quietly, looking at the knight before him. "What is my fathers favorite pet doing so far from him?"

Looking around the room, the dwarf gestured to a few of his men, ordering them to take the girls to their rooms and guard them until he said otherwise. As they pushed passed them, Mary reached out for Sansa, but the young woman shook her head, holding on tight to the Hound. The Imp gave the odd pair a quick glance before turning to Gregor once more.

"I have a message for the King." Gregor grunted out. "Was just taking care of some unfinished business with my brother here."

"Yes, well, your brother has been called back to the Red Keep, and even though I am fully aware you will be pardoned by the King, on my fathers orders, that does not mean I will let you ruin this fine brothel for no other reason than some family fight. Off you go, Ser Gregor, the King will want to hear that message as soon as possible." He motioned towards the group of men he had brought with him. "These men will escort you. I would advice against hurting them. My father would be most unhappy with losing men that will be needed during the battle."

Gregor didn't reply, simply glared at the man that barely reached the middle of his thigh, but then relented, moving towards the door and marching out, though making sure he slammed his broad body into his brothers injured side as he went.

Sandor didn't make a single sound, simply closing his eyes as he felt a new rush of pain overcome him.

"Come now, Clegane, and bring the girl with you. Her sister is waiting for her."

* * *

Sansa looked upon the pale form that was the Hound, laying in his bed, his breathing shallow as the maester tended to his wound. It looked horrible, so deep she couldn't imagine he would survive, even though she had been assured the opposite by both Sandor and the maester.

The wound was cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, and still Sansa couldn't calm herself. The way the man of her heart lay in his bed, groaning out in pain at every breath. She didn't dare come closer, nor did she want to move away. The maester offered the hound milk of the poppy, but was harshly refused. Sansa couldn't understand why Sandor was always so stubborn.

She had seen her sister, right before she had come to see for herself that Sandor was still alive. Arya had been curled up in a blanket, her wounds tended to by a foreign woman in the Hand's tower. Lord Tyrion had been very kind, allowing Sansa and Arya to remain in the Keep for the night, and Sansa had tucked her sister into bed in a small room they had been given. After promising her sister she would make sure the Hound was alive and breathing, she left to keep her promise.

"Sandor." She said quietly, finally bringing up the courage to move towards him. "Let the maester give you something for the pain.. please."

"All I need for the pain is wine." He grunted out, dismissing the healer with a wave of his hand.

Sansa sighed, but moved to the small table that stood in the Hounds room, a carafe of wine accompanied by a silver cup. Carefully, she filled it, carrying it over to the man.

"Careful." She whispered, slowly helping him sit up enough to drink down the wine in deep, long sips. She watched as the red liquid stained his lips, almost as red as the blood he had lost because of her, because he had come to protect her and all the other girls once more. She felt sickened, her head spinning lightly, the smell of the blood suddenly in her nose once more.

"If you can't stand looking at me anymore, girl, leave." Sandor grunted, moving to lay back down, his head turned to hide the scarred side of his face, but Sansa would have bet her life that it was already turning red with his anger. She shook her head, placing the cup onto the stone floor, pushing away the blanket that covered his broad body, careful of his wound as she laid next to him.

"Its not that, Sandor, and you should know. Its the wine. It looks like blood." She didn't dare look at him as she laid there, trembling with exhaustion. The events of the day were taking the toll on her, making her want nothing more but to fall asleep in her love's arms, and not worry about anything. But she did not have that luxury. She had to worry, not only about herself and her sister, but also about the wounded man. His brother, the Mountain that moved, was now after them all. And that alone was more terrifying than the thought of war.

"You never minded blood." He grunted, shooting her a glance as she laid beside him. "You mind the wine itself. You said so yourself."

"No. I mind when you drink too much of it." She protested, moving closer to him, moving to her knee's, gently grasping his face between her hands. "Please, do not be angry at me. I am sorry. I should not have taken it from you the way I did. I am sorry, Sandor."

The growl that came from the Hound would have chased off anyone else, she knew, the way his eyes darkened with his rage, his large hands grasping her wrists once more, and pressing down. But she did not back down, did not pull back, did not let him scare her away. She could no longer be afraid of him. She could no longer fear for her own safety. He had been willing to give his life for her, time and time again, and now he had been wounded because of it. Tears stung her eyes, and Sansa hated being unable to brush them away, having no choice but to let them run freely along her cheeks.

"Fuck." Sandor growled, frustration and anger clear in his voice, and the young woman almost expected him to shove her off the bed and onto the floor. To her surprise, she was pulled towards him, moved to rest against his unharmed side. "You and your bloody tears. You know I can't fucking stand to see you cry."

"Oh Sandor.." She breathed, unable to form any words as the tears came crashing down harder, if out of fear or relief, she did not know. But it did not matter, for she was pressed against his body once more, one arm wrapped around her, holding and comforting her.

"Quit your crying." He breathed, his hand resting at her hip, fingers dipping into her skin hard enough to leave bruises. "You're alright now, little bird. You're alright."

"I am not crying for myself." She replied, shaking her head gently, moving her body upwards, pressing soft kisses to his shoulder and neck. "I am crying because you are hurt. And because I fear that the Stranger might come to you tonight."

"Shouldn't cry over a dog, girl. Shouldn't cry at all."

"You are _not_ a dog! How often do I have to tell you this, you stubborn man?" She shook her head, pressing more kisses up his neck, ignoring the way he winced as her lips hovered over the scarred skin. "You are so much more than a dog, Sandor. So much more."

"Enough chirping, Sansa." He grunted, finally looking at her. "Shouldn't you be with your sister?"

"She is safe and unharmed. I am exactly where I should be." She answered. "And you will not chase me away. Never again. And I will never chase you away again, either."

"Exactly where you should be." He scoffed, shaking his head, wanting to once more look away, but Sansa did not let him, once more cupping his cheeks.

"Yes. Exactly where I should be." She repeated, watching as his eyes roamed her face, an unsteady hand coming up to wipe away her drying tears. "Stop moving, Sandor. You should be resting. That means _sleeping._"

"I will sleep when I sleep, woman. Bring me more wine. Damn cut is aching as if the blade was still in it." Nodding, Sansa moved to gather the cup from the floor, filling it with wine once more, assisting him as he drank it down.

Silence fell as she once more settled into bed next to him, his arm wrapped around her, roughly pulling her closer until she was pressed up against his side, one leg laid over his, her hand draped over his chest, resting at his shoulder.

Sansa still couldn't relax completely, too afraid that the Stranger would change his mind, and take this man from her, take the man she loved where she could not follow. The wound could fester, he could break out into a fever, so many things could happen.. Gregor could decide that he would finish what he started while his brother laid injured and weakened. She would never understand how brothers could hate each other so. How they could want each other dead bad enough to actually try and shove their sibling into the Strangers waiting hands.

She had fought with all her siblings, brothers and sister alike, but she had always loved them, all of them, dearly. And no matter how angry they had been at one another, never had they intentionally hurt each other. Hurtful words were exchanged, and made up for later. Never had it gone beyond that.

"Little bird." Sansa's eyes flicked up, meeting his gaze, her thumb gently stroking over the skin of his shoulder as he spoke. "That brothel. It ain't safe for you no more. Or your sister. Fuck, no where in King's Landing is safe for you until Gregor leaves."

"I know, Sandor." She sighed, shrugging lightly. "But I'm not leaving."

"You must." His voice was firm, his body tensing beneath hers. "I've got the coin to keep you safe somewhere else. You and your sister. I'll pay the Mockingbird whatever he wants for you. I'll make sure you go somewhere else, somewhere Gregor can't get to you."

"Sandor.." Sansa whispered, running her hand over his chest soothingly. "I am not leaving you. I do not care what you say. I am not going to leave you in this horrible place. Not now, and not when your brother leaves."

"Stop being foolish!" He ground out, pulling his hand off her hip, moving, and struggling, to sit up. "Gregor will kill you, you and your little pup! Is that what you want for your sister?! To fear for her life day after day? He may leave for now, but he will come back, and Gregor does not forget. He will come after you, and I can't always be around to protect you!"

"Then I will have to make sure that he does not come near enough to harm me." Sitting up, she glared at him, her gaze flicking to the bandaged wound, making sure he had not ripped his wound open by moving. "Bring Arya somewhere safe. I've always wanted to send her somewhere else, I've been saving my coin for it. If you want her gone from here, if you can send her someplace better, then I beg you to do so. But I am not leaving you."

"Why are you so fucking set on staying with me?" The male growled, sweat starting to cover his skin, his chest rising and falling heavily. "What do you promise yourself from being with the bloody Hound?"

"I don't promise myself anything from being with the Hound." She answered calmly. "But the Hound.. its only a part of who you are, Sandor. The hurt, angry, vicious part of you, the part that suffers and snaps and growls. The part that drinks too much. But I see beyond that. I see passed all of it."

"Didn't I prove to you enough that it is all I am this morning, woman?!" His voice rose, teeth grinding against each other, the muscles in his neck twitching as his anger rose, just as the burned side of his mouth. "The fuck do you think I am? What bullshit have you convinced yourself of when you look at me?! What bloody fantasies have you come up with in your pretty little head?!"

"Sandor Clegane, you will _not_ talk to me like that." She bristled, crossing her arms over her chest. She could feel herself become angry as well, but all her anger was overshadowed by the pain she felt when she looked at him. Injured, angry.. scared. "And if you want any more of that wine, I suggest you settle down, because you can't bloody get it yourself. You will listen to me, and I will not take any more of your growling. Do you understand me?"

"Or what, little bird? What if I don't stop my growling?" He challenged, baring his teeth at her once more. Only weeks ago, it would have been enough to make her back down, and submit to his wishes. But not anymore. This man, this wonderful man, would not damage himself any longer. She would not allow it.

"Then I will just have to shut your mouth." She answered, moving forward, pressing her lips to his forcefully, her hands tangling into his hair firmly, holding him close to her. She readied herself for the shove that was bound to come, maybe even the pain of being struck. But once more, she was surprised by him. Strong arms encircled her, pulling her body to his, her breasts pressed almost painfully against his muscled chest as he kissed her, his lips moving against hers violently, tongue thrusting past her lips, and she welcomed him, parting her lips to him, allowing him to ravage her mouth. In their time together, she had come to love how rough he was at times, how he simply demanded things from her, things she was all to willing to give.

Rough hands were running along her back, down to her ass, short nails digging through the cloth that covered it, and into her skin, making her gasp into his mouth. Tugging at his hair, she pulled his head back, moving to kneel above his lap, now taller than him, dipping her head down to kiss him passionately. She couldn't tell if he was enjoying her being in control, but for now, she didn't care. He needed to listen to her, he needed to hear everything she had to say, and he needed to calm himself, or his wound would rip open, and more of his blood would spill, something Sansa could not bare.

"Spent too much time with me, little bird, if you're starting to curse." He breathed as she pulled back from him, his fingers splayed firmly against her firm mound.

"I could never spend too much time with you, Sandor. Never." She breathed against his lips, pressing her forehead to his, still holding his head securely by his hair. "I love you. With all my heart, I love you, Sandor Clegane. And I will never leave your side, not now, not when the war comes, not when you marry and have children. Not until you do not want me anymore. I told you that you would not chase me away, and that I was exactly where I am supposed to be. _I will not leave you._ You can growl all you like. I am staying."

* * *

Sandor never thought he would be loved. Never did he think he would find a woman that would be able to bare his face, his drinking, his foul personality. He had made peace with himself long ago, though it still burned to think of, accepting that he would die on some battlefield, or maybe in his bed, if he made it back from whatever battle he had fought.

Never had he thought he would hear the words spoken to him by the beautiful, breath taking woman that looked down at him, dainty fingers curled into his hair, holding him in place, daring to do something no one else had for a very long time. Daring to try and control the rabid dog.

"Do you hear me?" She asked again, and he was suddenly aware he was simply starring at her, mouth slightly agape. "I love you. I am not leaving you. And you cannot make me."

She repeated, only causing the sudden burst of fire within him to grow stronger, to spread through his veins like wildfire, burning him from the inside. But this fire was not painful, it didn't cripple him like it had when his face had been pressed into the coal. It didn't make him fear, it didn't paralyze him. Never had he felt so alive.

"Little bird..." He breathed, and with a swift movement, he brought her beneath him, grunting as the tug on his hair grew harder for a second, before her hands slipped to his cheeks for what seemed the hundredth time today. "Say it again."

"I love you." She whispered, luscious lips curling into a soft smile as she looked up at him, soft fingertips trailing over his skin, unmarred and scarred alike, tracing every line on it, every crease, along his nose and his lips. "I love you. I've loved you since you came to me for the first time."

His body trembled as he held himself above her, the pain in his side suddenly gone, the dull aching in his head disappearing along with it as he simply held her gaze. He felt light, light like a feather, ready to be blown away by the wind. This woman was a force to be reckoned with, he realized, like a strong winter wind brushing against his skin, refreshing and cool, calming the boiling rage within him. She was everything he had always wished for. And she loved him. _Him. _The ugly old Hound, the beast that commoners and high born's alike feared.

"Are you sure, Sansa?" He asked, his hand wandering over her side, higher and higher, until his skin rested against her neck, thumb gently brushing over the soft skin of her jaw. "Do not say such things to me unless you are fucking sure you mean them."

"Are you implying I might be lying to you?" The frown on her face made him want to laugh, the way she could look upset and still be the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. How could she be so fucking _perfect_? God's be damned, she was going to rob him of his mind.

"No, little bird. I am making sure you mean what you say. Because if you say it one more time, I will never let you go. I'll make you mine, again and again, until you can't even bloody think of any other man. Once you're mine, little bird, I will break your wings and make sure you can never leave me again."

"You do not have to break my wings, Sandor. I will never leave you. I will never be with anyone but you, if you will have me." Her words were like honey, running along his tortured soul, filling the gaping wounds he carried within. He had never felt this way in his life, and he thought that even if the Stranger came to him tonight, he would fight him off, just to be with her for a day longer.

"Sansa." He sighed, lowering himself onto her, covering her body with his own, bathing in the feeling of her pressed against him, small hands combing through his hair, brushing over his back. "I could never not want you."

* * *

Tyrion Lannister was a smart man. A dwarf, yes, and no good at any sort of battle, and he was very much aware of these facts. But he was a smart man.

And so, when he had laid eyes upon the child he had protected, and her sister together, he had immediately realized who he was looking upon.

Lady Sansa, and Lady Arya Stark. Daughters of Eddard Stark, Warden of the north. Or, former warden. He had died 3 years ago, along with his entire family. Or so everyone had thought. He did not know how the two girls had managed to escape the men that had been sent to slaughter them. But they had, and now, they were in Kings Landing.

Shaking his head lightly, he took a long sip of his wine. Back then, he hadn't known the Stark's very well, hadn't considered them important. But then, at the time, he hadn't considered anything but wine and whores and books important. And so, when Joffrey had sent out men to kill them, calling the Stark's a threat, that the north was too strong, that they thought of them as equal, Tyrion had not protested.

But now, as he laid eyes on the consequences of the actions he had not stopped, he felt guilt. The girls had been but children back then, and Sansa was barely an adult now. And she had gone from being a Lady to a whore. All because of the fear in his nephew, that the north would rise against him.

"..A Lannister always pays his depth." He whispered quietly to himself. Given, it was not his depth. He had not ordered the murder, nor had he carried out the command. But he hadn't stopped it either. No, these girls were not suffering because of something he had done, but rather because of something he hadn't done. And he fully intended to make it up to them.

He had never considered himself a good person. But when he looked at Sansa, he saw Shae. A beautiful young woman that shouldn't be doing what she was. That deserved so much more. That shouldn't have to suffer the way she did. And Arya, that brave little girl, shouldn't have to witness her sister selling herself to men, just to keep a roof over their head, and food on their table.

He would have to talk to Lady Sansa immediately. He could not send her back to the brothel in the morning, not with the Mountain on her heels. Even the Hound couldn't protect her now, not while injured. He would have to do so himself.

And so, he summoned Bronn, having become ridiculously fond of the man, considering him a friend, who he trusted with his life, and made his way to the room he had given the Stark girls. When he knocked, he received no answer, and he worried for just a second that Gregor might have come for the girls. But as he opened the door, he saw the younger of the sisters sleeping deeply, curled into her blanket. Sansa was no where to be seen.

"Probably with Clegane." Bronn snorted. "Don't know what she see's in him, but by the way she clung to him.."

"Clegane." Tyrion repeated quietly. He had almost forgotten him. If it was true.. If what Bronn implied was true, and he found out that the woman he seemed to care for deeply was a highborn, something the Hound had always rejected, and hated with a passion.. But it had to be done.

"Lets go." He said gravely, closing the door quietly, and making his way to the Hounds room.

Sansa's heart was nearly bursting out of her chest at his words, and once more tears stung her eyes, tears of joy, that he had not rejected her, that he wanted her as well, that she would never have to leave him ever again.. He would make sure of that.

"Sandor.. you have to lay down and rest, my love." She whispered, wrapping her arms around the broad shoulders, still beneath him. "You will irritate your wound."

"Fuck that." He growled out, hands moving over her thighs, pushing up the fabric, his hard member pressing insistently into her skin, making her blush, a soft moan escaping her lips as arousal rushed through her.

"My love, please.. let me love you, then, if you will not rest."

She watched as he pulled back, brown eyes blazing, and she wondered if he understood what she had suggested. But as he moved to lay on his back once more, grinning at her, she knew that he was very much aware of what she had offered. Quickly, she moved to straddle him, hands moving to his breaches, trembling lightly at the feel of his member, its heat and size. Oh, he was all she had ever hoped for, and so much more.

"Don't tease me, little bird." He said, his voice low, raw, filled with the same need she felt. If he loved her even half as much as she loved him, she knew she was going to be happy for the rest of her life.

"I love you." She breathed, fingers undoing his breaches, about to pull them down and free his imprisoned erection, when a knock pulled her attention from him, and to the door.

"Who the fuck-" Sandor growled out, but the door was opened without permission, and Sansa had no choice but to ease herself into a sitting position next to him, quickly covering him up with the sheets.

"Clegane." Tyrion Lannister nodded at the Hound, receiving nothing but an angry growl in return. "I apologize for the interruption, but I need a word with the young lady. In private."

Sansa tilted her head to the side. What could the Hand of the King want of her?

"Whatever you have to say to her, you can say to me, Imp." Sandor growled out, once more moving to sit, but Sansa quickly turned towards him, placing her hands on his chest, gently holding him down.

"Its alright, my love. Please, stay down. You have moved far too much for your own good already." Waiting for him to relax, and lay down, she turned to the Lord once more, taking in his form. "But he is right, Lord Tyrion. Whatever you have to say to me, he can hear."

She watched as the Imp stiffened, even shifted slightly under her gaze, sighing deeply as he shook his head.

"Very well, my lady." He said quietly, his eyes fixed on her as he spoke. Sansa stiffened. Could it be.. had he?

"I'm not a lady." She whispered, her voice small, all the warmth she had felt draining from her body.

"Ah, Lady Sansa. You should not lie. Its unbecoming." Tyrion spoke, moving closer, eyes flicking to Sandor. Oh, she didn't dare to look at him. What would he do once he knew who she really was?

"The fuck are you talking about?" The voice behind her was angry, and she could feel the bed shifting beneath her, but this time she did not stop him. She could not face him, for he would see the truth painted onto her face.

"3 years ago, almost 4 now. Winterfell, the home of the Stark's was attacked. The entire family, all servants, and anyone close was killed. That was the news that reached King's Landing. But.." Tyrion hesitated. "The bodies of the two daughters, Arya and Sansa, were never found. It was assumed that the men had taken them with them for entertainment, and then thrown their corpses away."

"Please." Sansa whispered. "Please don't."

"...So you're telling me." Sandor ground out. "That these girls..."

"Yes. They are the heir's to Winterfell. Lady Arya and Lady Sansa of the north."

Sandor felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him. Lady. _Lady_ Sansa.

"Get out." He growled, feeling the veins in his neck pulsate as he glared at the half man. "Get the fuck out."

"Clegane, this is about more than your romantic-" Tyrion started, but was quickly silenced by Sansa.

"Please, my Lord." She whispered, making Sandor growl. He didn't need a fucking woman to back him up. But there she was, chirping her perfect little words. "Give us until tomorrow."

Tyrion seemed to hesitate, but then nodded, moving out of the room with his sell sword, and closing the door.

* * *

He couldn't believe what he had heard. His little bird.. a high born. And not only that. But the rightful heir to the north, to Winterfell, and whatever else belonged to it.

"Sandor..." Her voice was timid as she turned to address him. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Lady Sansa." He spat, a vicious grin spreading on his face. "Daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. And Warden of the North."

"Please, my love, let me explain." She begged, but he could hear no more. Didn't want to hear more. How had he ever been so foolish to believe that his life would bring him some kind of comfort, or joy? The woman he loved.. a part of the world he hated more than anything else.

"There is nothing to explain, girl." He snapped, still not looking at her, hands balling into fists at his side as he moved to stand, brushing against her as he did.

"No, don't-" She sounded worried now, deeply worried, but then, which high born wasn't an actor? They were all trained oh so nicely, especially the women, to be fucking perfect, manipulative, able to make everyone believe what they wanted them to. And he had fallen for it.

The pain was unbearable. The way it ripped at his heart, the shame he felt at how stupid he had been. No woman would ever love him, especially a woman so beautiful and pure as her. He had let himself be tricked, wrapped around her fingers. He had come when she called, had protected her, loved her.. Since the moment he had seen her, he had loved her.

He could never forgive this. Could he? Could he be without this woman? Just the thought of her leaving pained him, only serving to make him angrier. How had he become so dependent on another being? He had always looked out for himself, he had done well on his own...

But now, he could barely breath when he thought of losing her. He didn't want to be angry, at least not this angry, he didn't want to chase her away, he wanted to forgive her, wanted to hold her and tell her it would be alright, that they would come up with something.. that she was the best that had ever happened to him.

And yet, he could barely bring himself to look at her, could only look at her face for a second or two, before all the pain and hate from his past came rushing back, choking him. Would he be able to forget, for her?

"Don't." He warned, his voice harsh as he felt her fingertips brush against his upper arm, trying to hold him back. "Get the bloody hell out, don't ever come back."

* * *

Her heart constricted at his words, making her want to scream out in pain, in pure agony as she watched him rise from his bed, slowly, unsteadily, making his way to the only thing that he seemed to believe could bring him peace. Wine.

She watched as he drank down the entire carafe, one long sip after the other, until finally there was no more to be had. The glass burst into a million pieces as he threw it against the wall, roaring so loud it made her ears ring.

"No."

The word had slipped over her tongue before she had even finished thinking about what she was going to say, how she was going to explain to him. But she was not going to let him push her away, simply because of who she was born as.

The next victim of the Hounds rage was the table. Wearily she watched as he slammed his fists into it, before simply grabbing it by the edge and flinging it against the wall as well, growling out as his hand snapped towards his wound.

"I told you to _get the fuck out_!" He roared, his back to her, the bandaged beneath his fingers slowly turning red.

"You ripped your stitches." She kept her voice even, moving towards him with slow, measured steps. She needed to remain calm, if she wanted any chance of calming the man before her. "Let me see."

His movement caught her by surprise, his broad physic once more seeming too rough to be able and move so quickly, but he had spun around with such speed that she barely had time to acknowledge the movement before she felt a stinging pain blossoming in her cheek.

Her head was forcefully turned to the side by the sheer strength behind the gesture. Slowly, she brought her hand up to her cheek, feeling the skin beneath warming. He had never struck her. Never.

Slowly, she turned her head, looking up at the man that stood so close she could feel his breath, heavy and smelling of wine, brush over her forehead. He looked down at her, his face contorted in anger. But his eyes spoke of so much more than anger, and Sansa felt her heart break as she starred into the dark brown pools.

"Let me look at your wound." She repeated quietly. He did not move as she reached out for him, uncovering his injury, careful to not actually touch it. "You tore through most of your stitches. Sit down."

"Bloody hell girl, who he fuck do you think you are?" He growled, but Sansa could only shake her head.

"I am Sansa. I am the woman that loves you. I am the one that cries for you, that laughs for you, that prays for you.. and I am the one that will make sure your wound heals properly. That is who I am. High born or not, I am the same woman you claimed you wanted to spend your life with." She looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. "Does it really make such a difference to you, my love? Does my name matter so? I will never reclaim Winterfell. I will never return to the north. Is being born a Lady a crime?"

"Lying to a man is a crime." He snarled. "You didn't tell me. You never would have."

"No, I wouldn't have." She agreed softly, taking a step towards him, their bodies almost touching. "I would never have burdened you with my past, just as you would never have burdened me with yours. Would you have told me how you got your scars? Does it really matter? You are still the man I love. No matter what you have done, no matter how many scars you carry. And if you turned out to be one of the men that came to my home that day , it would change nothing. For I love you more than anything, Sandor."

Silence.

Sansa watched as the male clenched and unclenched his fists, slowly starting to pace the room, from one wall to the other, again and again. She did not know how much time he spent doing this, her legs starting to grow tired of carrying her weight when he finally moved towards the bed, sitting down.

"..Stitch me up then, woman." He grunted. "Got some thread and a needle in the pouch."

Sansa nodded, silently thanking the god's that he would at least let her tend to him, but not daring to hope that he had forgiven her for not telling him the truth. She moved over to his clothes, quickly finding the pouch, and smiling weakly. She had watched Arya make it, although she had kept that to herself. Pulling it open, she retrieved what she needed, and made her way back.

Having no wine to clean off the needle, she simply moved to one of the candles, holding the needle into the flame. Her mother had taught her how to stitch wounds, just in case she ever needed it. Sansa was thankful for it now, though she had hated learning it back then.

"...I shouldn't have hit you." He finally spoke as she settled next to him.

"No. You shouldn't have." She agreed quietly, pushing him to lay down, his back facing her, giving her easier access to the wound. "But I should have told you the truth. At least once I knew I wanted to be with you."

"..You still want that, little bird? After I hurt you?" He asked quietly, his voice almost shaking.

"Of course I do." Her voice was gentle as she examined the wound, pulling out the loose threads as carefully as possible. "I told you I would never leave you."

"..You meant what you said?"

"Yes, Sandor. I meant every word I said. And I do not regret saying any of it." She sighed, moving her body to hover over his, turning his face toward his. "Do you really not want me anymore?"

"Little bird.." He sighed, shaking his head slowly. "I told you I could never not want you."

* * *

_Hate it? Love it? Want more? _

_Thank you to everyone taking time to read this!  
_


	5. Chapter 5

"And what do you plan to do with them?" Shae asked, laying on her stomach next to the Hand of the King, lazily playing with a strand of his hair.

"First of all, we need to get them away from Baelish. I have no doubt that he knows exactly who they are. He could spot a Tully the way no other man can. He was in love with her mother. Even fought for her.." Tyrion shook his head, his head pounding from the events of the day. "Everyone knows Littlefinger doesn't do anything without reason."

"Maybe she could become a handmaiden here?" Shae suggested, tilting her head to the side, her brown hair falling over her shoulder.

"No.. If anyone found out that there are still heirs to Winterfell, they would not survive the day. We need to get them as far away from the Red Keep as we can, and quickly. Stannis' fleet will be here soon. He knew Ned Stark, and his wife. Not well, but maybe well enough to recognize the older girl."

"And where shall they go, my lion? Where would you send them?" The female asked, moving to draw small circles on his chest.

"Dorne, maybe. Braavos, maybe. Somewhere far out of reach. They need to be protected. After this war, after there is no more immediate threat, maybe we can bring them back to Winterfell." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes, pulling her to his side. "But that can all wait until tomorrow. Now, we will sleep."

* * *

Sandor watched the sleeping form of Sansa Stark, curled up in his bed, wrapped securely into his blankets, her head resting on his pillow. A high born Lady in his bed. A high born lady he had found in a brothel. Who he had fucked. Repeatedly.

Sandor shook his head, rubbing his face with his hands as he tried to chase away the tiredness. The sun hadn't rose yet, the first rays of its light barely pushing into the night sky. And here he sat, with a fucking _high born_ in his bed, who he had pledged his love and life to.

And despite having forgiven her, he was still angered by the fact that she had hidden this from him after all he had done for her. After all the times he had protected her, and her plague of a sister. Had he not deserved her trust? Had he not deserved the truth? They had not spoken much after she had tended to him, the wariness that had settled into their bones too heavy to fight. They had fallen asleep in each others arms, bodies pressed together tightly.

She had still been sleeping soundly when he woke, and so he had moved from her, careful not to wake her with his actions, moving to his chamber pot and taking his morning piss. He had thrown the blood stained breaches he wore onto the ground, pulling on a clean pair. The blood had dried on the fabric, and he had always hated the smell of old blood.

They had agreed not to speak of the matter any longer, not without talking to the Imp first. It made no sense to come up with some plan without him. He knew the dwarf. Now that he was involved, he was not going to let anyone keep him out.

As he moved to sit on the edge of his bed, he pondered what the future would bring. What would the Imp do? Sandor had known of the command, 3 years ago, for a few of their men to ride north, unmarked men, without banner or sigil, and put down the wolves. He had not been one of them, and for that, he thanked whatever god's his little bird prayed to. For if he had been one of the men, he would not have let the girls escape. He would have found them, run them down, and killed them without a blink of an eye.

He had not thought much of the order back then. He had already been Joff's sword shield, since the day the little fuck had been born, the Kings dog, and it wasn't his place to question the commands of the King. Had he known what he knew now.. Shaking his head, he turned to look over his shoulder, watching Sansa sleep. She looked so peaceful, her long red hair fanned out across his pillow and bed, one hand curled securely around the corner of his pillow, face relaxed, expression open.

She was still so young. Much too young to have seen what she had seen. He had killed his first man at the age of 12, and had not thought any of it. To him, violence and death had always been normal, never far away. But when he thought of the young girl and her even younger sister in the middle of a battle that would cost their family and friends their life.. He wished he could have shielded her from that.

And now, thanks to him, the poor girl had Gregor on her heels. All of this, the entire situation, it was his fault. If he had never allowed himself to care for her, Gregor would have no reason to want her and Arya dead. If he hadn't been injured, and needed her to help him back to the Keep, the Imp would never have found out who she was. And now, there was no other option left but for her to take her sister and run, as far away as she could.

And he would have to stay behind, so that his brother would not follow her. He would be able to hide her somewhere, maybe within the free cities. He had enough coin to pay for a home, and a few servants. She would never be hungry, or cold. He would make sure that she got everything she needed, and more. But he could not follow her, not unless he struck Gregor and handed him to the Stranger. He could not hide his scars, a face as ugly as his would be remembered by every single person that was not blind. It would be much too easy for Gregor to track them. And even if he killed Gregor, he was still the sworn shield of the King. No, he would have to stay behind.

Shaking his head at the thought he stood, growling angrily at himself as he felt tears sting his eyes. He was a man, the god damn _Hound._ Men like him did not cry. Men like him did not give in to the pain. He would stand tall, and strong. If not for himself, then for the sake of the little bird. She would refuse to leave him, she would fight to stay, but he would personally drag her all the way to Dorne by her hair if he had to. If only it meant that she would be safe.

He once more wondered how he had fallen so deeply in love with her so quickly. He remembered the first time he had laid eyes on her. He had been visiting the brothel, walking along the small garden it kept, and there she had sat. Flaming red hair, eyes as blue as the summer sky, skin so pale it was almost as white as the damned cloak he was forced to wear when he protected the king. Her beauty had caught his eye immediately. She had been younger then, and Ros, Littlefinger's bitch had told him she was not yet working. He had ground his teeth, wanting nothing more than to grab the girl by her thin arm and have his way with her. How many times had he watched her sitting in the garden, singing either to herself or a group of other whores. Her songs had all been stupid little fairy tales, the kind he hated more than any other songs. And yet he had never been able to forgot the soft tune of her voice, the way it made his skin break out into goose bumps, like a breath of cool air on a hot summer day. He had loved her even then.

"Clegane." A voice called, soft, but unmistakable yet. The Mockingbird had found his way to him to get back what he thought was his. Sandor couldn't keep himself from snarling. He was not going to give her back. Not to Littlefucker, not to the gods themselves. Not until he had to let her sail off to safety.

He strode to the door quickly, opening and closing it quietly behind himself, and there he stood. Lord Baelish, tall and groomed. His thin lips were turned upwards in a smile, a smile he had seen many times. It seemed he was always smiling, this one, even when he plotted against the one he was smiling at.

"What do you want?" He grunted, looking down at the male. The man was so slender, he would fit into him twice.

"Good morning to you too, Clegane." The man replied. "I was informed that you have once more defended my.. establishment. I came to offer my thanks."

The man stuck his hand into a pocket of his gown, pulling out a pouch big enough to fill his long fingered hand, the sound of coins clinking against each other. His lips curled back in a snarl. Why the fuck did everyone think that he was out for coin?

"That's not all you're here for, Littlefucker. And I can tell you right now, she isn't coming back with you. And neither is her pup." He ground out, disregarding the money being held out to him. Slowly, the Lord lowered his hand, still smiling, though he could see the corners of the other male's lips tighten.

"Clegane, with all due respect.. She works for me." He said, words gentle, soft, as if he was speaking to an angry child. "She belongs to me."

"She don't belong to anyone, fucker. I'll pay you whatever you want, I've got more than enough coin. But you ain't getting her back. And if you try to get her by force, I'll pile the bodies of the sell swords that try to take her up in front of your door."

"Now, now Clegane. There is no need for threats so early in the morning."

"It ain't a threat, Mockingbird, its a promise." Sandor spat out, taking a step towards the man, invading his personal space with his broad body. "You better turn around and walk away."

Baelish looked up at the man, his face blank, that damn smile finally falling. He was not moving back, but the way he swallowed did not go unnoticed by the Hound, and he could almost _smell_ the fear pouring out of the Lord's pores. No man in his right mind challenged the Hound, injured or not, especially not when they didn't know how to handle a sword.

"Very well.." He finally said, his lips once more turned up in a smile. "If you wish to keep her with you, Clegane, I can hardly argue with you. Just remember this, _Hound_. If anyone else finds out who she is, who she _really_ is.. That would be most unfortunate. The King does not take betrayal lightly, as you know. And a dead dog is no use to anyone."

"You'll keep your mouth shut if you know whats good for yourself. Because if your tongue slips, all the knights in the fucking seven kingdoms will be able to protect you. You hear me? They may come after me, and kill me, but I will make sure I hold your head in my hands before they do."

And with that, Sandor turned, retreating into his room, slamming the door shut in his anger, only to be faced with the worried face of the woman he loved.

"Is everything alright?" She asked cautiously, the sheets of his bed pulled up to her shoulders, covering her beautiful body. "You are upset."

"Aye, Sansa. The Mockingbird came for you. I told him to piss off." He grunted, moving back to lay on his bed, next to the woman he intended to wed. "He won't be coming for you again. At least not soon."

Sansa nodded, her expression still worried as she looked at him, making him want to do nothing but hold and comfort her, and whisper to her that it would all be well. But how could he make a promise he had no way of knowing he could keep? He could not comfort her, not really, but he could bloody well distract her.

"Get that little sister of yours. She must already be looking for you. Won't do for her to get lost in the Keep."

* * *

Arya woke with a start, frantically scanning the dark room for her sister. It took her sleep addled mind a few seconds before she remembered what had happened the night before, and that Sansa was probably still with Sandor.

Sandor!

Pushing the blankets back, Arya quickly jumped to her feet and ran for the door, swinging it open. She had to see if the Hound still lived, or if the Stranger had taken him. She had not seen the wound, not really, but Sansa had, and her worried expression had scared Arya well enough.

As she stood in the hallway, she suddenly realized that she didn't know where to go. Once more, she would have to roam the Keep, hoping to find someone that would be kind enough to help her. And in her experience, none of the Lord's or Ladies were particularly nice. Just as she had turned her body towards the right, deciding to start in that direction, she could hear her sister call out from behind her.

"Arya!"

The brunette quickly spun around, hastily making her way to her sister. Sansa was pale, and she looked tired, but she was not crying. That had to mean that he was alive, did it not?

"Is he..?" She asked as she reached her sister, big, brown eyes filled with hope as she looked at the only remaining family she had.

"He is weak, Arya, but alive. He will need time to heal." Sansa said quietly, taking her sister by the hand. "Come.. I'll take you to him. You can see for yourself."

"Isn't he tired?" Arya asked hesitantly. She didn't want to bother him, not after all he had done, not after all the trouble she had put him through, especially when he was hurt. "I don't think he wants to see me, Sansa."

Sansa frowned, thin eyebrows furrowing as she gazed at her sisters face, moving to kneel before her. Arya didn't want to look at her, not wanting her big sister to see her cry. But she couldn't hold back the scalding hot tears. She had been too overwhelmed by the events yesterday to _really_ understand that Sandor was hurt. Badly, by the amount of blood she had seen drip from his side. She felt guilty, for not having been quicker in finding the Imp, or his sell sword. If she had just run a little faster, if she had just pushed herself more, then maybe..

"Arya. Look at me, little sister." Sansa whispered, her hands now holding on to her sisters shoulder, gently pressing down. As Arya complied, Sansa continued. "This isn't your fault. He knows that. He knew you'd want to see him. He sent me to check on you.. he knew you'd want to see him once I told you he was alive. He would have told me not to bring you if he didn't want to see you. Don't you think?"

Arya thought about those words for a moment, before slowly nodding, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her shirt.

"He's not angry?" She asked quietly, needing Sansa's reassurance just once more.

"No, Arya. He's not angry. Not at you at least." Her sister smiled, wrapping arms around the smaller she-wolf, and hugging her tight. "But he knows who we are. The Imp knows too. We must be quick now, Arya. No one else can see us. Come."

And Arya hurried after her sister, clutching her hand tightly, relieved that the closest thing she had to a father had nod been taken from her.

* * *

"Plague." Sandor greeted her, grunting quietly as he sat with his back to the wall, holding onto his wineskin, the other hand laying limply next to him. He had not felt the pain during the evening, but now it was back with a vengeance. And yet, he had tried to drink as little as he could, not wanting to anger Sansa or the little pup. But the pounding in his side pulled itself through the entire left side of his body, through his arm and leg, making it almost impossible to move without wincing. His anger had kept him distracted when the Mockingbird had visited him, but now that both girls were in no immediate danger, the adrenaline vanished from his blood, leaving nothing to ward off the pain.

"Sandor!" The girl cried, and then she was beside him, skinny arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him as if he was her life line. He saw Sansa rush over, wanting to pull the little girl back, but Sandor shook his head, placing down his wineskin, wrapping his good arm around the small being. "I'm sorry!"

"What you sorry for, plague?" He asked quietly, his gaze flicking up to the older of the Stark girls, silently asking her for some sort of advice on how to deal with this. Sansa smiled, that cheeky grin she had when she was amused, and even though she was amused by him, he couldn't help but grin back.

"Arya, give the poor man some space to breath. You'll crush him." Sansa chuckled, seating herself onto the edge of the bed, gently pulling Arya back by her shoulder. The Hound watched as Arya retreated, but only far enough to seat herself on his thighs, hands placed on her own legs, frowning at him.

"If I had just found the Imp quicker, you'd never gotten hurt. Its all my fault." Sandor could only smile that her words. She was still such a child, no matter how brave and fierce she was.

"Nay, none of this is your fault, Arya. You ran as fast as those short legs of yours carried you, I'm sure of it. You found the dwarf, and you sent him to the brothel. You did all you could." He tried to sound reassuring, to sooth the little hellion's guilt, but even he could hear the edge to his voice. He had tried not to wince as she had sat on his leg, but, god's be damned, even a lightweight like her was too much for his aching body.

"You still got hurt." Arya argued, but she seemed less strained. "Does it hurt much? Do you need the maester?"

"No, I don't, pup. Go fill the wineskin, if you're going to insist on keeping watch over me." He grunted, not unkindly, closing his eyes at the relief he felt when her weight lifted off his thighs. A cool hand was placed onto his forehead, and as he opened his eyes, he could see Sansa leaning close to him, sighing quietly.

"You're burning up." She said quietly, shaking her head. "A fever.. let me see the wound again. It might need more cleaning."

By then, Arya had filled the wineskin with the wine that had been brought by a young handmaid, once more in a carafe, as the last one she had brought had no longer been there for her to take with her when she came in the morning to empty his chamber pot.

Sandor sighed, growling lightly. Here he was, the feared Hound, licking his wounds while two women swirled around him, coddling him. It wasn't that he did not appreciate being cared for. No one had ever tended to him more than necessary, and so he was simply not used to it. He had always licked his wounds in silence and alone.

"Aye lass, do what you must." He answered, taking a deep drink from the wineskin, moving to lay on his side. But then he halted. "Pup, come here, sit where I can see you. I don't trust you around my things."

Of course, he was only making this up. He didn't want her to see the wound, and frighten her more than she already was. A fever was not unusual, not with a wound like this, but he did not want to unsettle the child any more than he already had. Briefly he scolded himself for caring so much, since they would both be gone soon. But he could not bring himself to distance himself from them.

"I won't touch anything!" Arya protested, but then moved to sit next to him, her back to his body, head turned only enough to look him in the face, her legs dangling off the bed.

"Aye, that's what you say, plague, and the next thing we know you'll cut open your pretty little fingers because you touched what you shouldn't have." He answered evenly, suppressing the jerk his body wanted to give as his wound was laid free.

"Old nan said I had the hands of a blacksmith." Arya said quietly, looking down at her hands. "She said Sansa had delicate hands, perfect for stitching and all the things women should do."

"Aye, your sister is good at all the things a woman should do. But she'll never be able to swing a sword like you do. And if you want to keep yourself and her save, that's a much more useful skill than making pretty stitching's, or playing on the high harp."

Arya grinned at him, seemingly pleased with his words, nodding to herself, now regarding her hands more closely. Sandor wanted to grin, but was suddenly remembered of his aching wound when gentle fingers moved along its rims.

"Its not infected." Sansa said quietly, her eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at her, blue eyes regarding the injury closely. "Maybe we should call the maester."

"Lass, a fever is normal. Don't worry yourself so. Pour more wine on it, and bandage it back up." He sighed, looking back to the younger girl, who hung her head. A small hand reached out for his, holding onto it.

"You can squeeze if it hurts too much." She said. "It helps. Mother would always hold on my hand when I was hurt, and when it hurt too much, I'd squeeze her hand, and it would help."

Sandor did not know what to reply to that. He had never had a mother that had held his hand when he was hurt. The only one that had come to him when he was in pain had been his little sister, and he could never have squeezed her hand. She had been so small, so fragile. And so was Arya. It was strange to him that, now that their secret was out, she spoke to him so readily of the past. Even stranger was the fact that he did not mind listening. He had never cared to hear stories of the spoiled children raised by wet nurses and nan's. And yet, when Arya or Sansa told him about their past, he did not feel the least bit annoyed.

"I will, when it hurts too bad." He finally said. He hesitated a second, lips pressing together into a firm line, closing his eyes. He wanted to thank her for her kindness, both of them. But he hadn't spoken words of thank for such a long time, and now he found it difficult to word it. He would have to settle for the barest of remarks. "Thank you, Arya."

* * *

Tyrion had thought about what he was going to do with the girls for a very long time. Sleep had avoided him, and even when he could no longer keep his eyes open for they burned with irritation, his mind would not let him rest.

What worried him the most was how Clegane would react.

Would he let the girls go? Would he let him bring them to safety? He cared deeply for both of them. But was he ready to let them go? Lose the seemingly only good things in his life? The Hound had never been treated kindly in all the years he had wandered this earth. Tyrion felt a pang of pity for the man. He had finally found something good, and now it would be taken from him.

But he could simply not come up with any other solution. They had to be sent away, had to board a ship as soon as possible, a ship that would carry them as far away from Westeros as possible. Slowly, Tyrion rose from his seat. His niece was sailing for Dorne soon, to marry a prince. He had arranged it carefully. He could put Sansa and Arya on the same ship, claim they were handmaidens. They would have a good life in Dorne.

Sighing heavily, Tyrion made his way to have the most uncomfortable conversation of his life.

* * *

"So you are going to send us away?" Sansa asked quietly, her voice shaking slightly as she spoke. "To Dorne. With Princess Myrcella?"

"It seems the wisest thing to do, Lady Sansa."

She could barely breath. Turning, she looked at Sandor, eyes wide. The Hound did not return her gaze, brown eyes cast downwards, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles stood out white. Arya was still sitting next to him, her gaze flicking from Sansa to Sandor, and then back.

"You can't send us away!" The brunette burst out, and for once, Sansa did not mind her sisters outburst. She completely agreed with her little sister, but somehow couldn't find the words to voice her opinion. "What about Sandor? Gregor is going to kill him!"

"With all respect, Lady Arya." Tyrion spoke softly to her, much like their father had spoken to them when they had been upset. "But he is quite capable of looking after himself. They do not call him the Hound for no reason. And I will do my best to support him, and keep him safe. Gregor will leave for my father's camp very soon. But if someone finds out who you are, if anyone knew there were still heir's to the north.. I cannot guarantee that you would survive that."

"Then let him come with us!" Arya bristled, and Sansa watched as her hand curled tightly around the Hounds wrist, or as much as possible. "He doesn't have to stay here, he hates it here! He doesn't want us to leave, he _loves_ us."

"Arya." Finally, Sandor raised his voice, and Sansa could feel dread rising in her chest. He had not protested at Tyrion's plan. That could only mean one thing. He agreed.

"No!" Arya jumped off the bed, starring at the man who's hand she had just held. "I don't care what you say! We're not going! We are _not_ leaving!"

"Arya..." Sandor started again, shaking his head, rubbing his face with a broad hand. "I want you and Sansa to be safe. You aren't safe here. Think about it, child. You have Gregor at your heels, Littlefinger that wants to take your sister back to the brothel, and if anyone finds out, you can be bloody sure that the Queen regent and King will be out for your life as well. I can't protect you from all of them at once."

"Then come with us!" Arya pleaded, turning to look at Sansa, eyes begging her for support, but Sansa felt paralyzed. She couldn't stop starring at the man she loved, feeling her heart break more with every second that passed. She might never see him again. Arya turned back to the Hound, eyebrows furrowed to deeply they almost touched. "Don't you want to come with us..?"

"Of course I do, plague." Sighing, Sandor beckoned her closer, and Sansa watched as Arya settled down beside him, watched as he pulled her to his side, holding her. "I want nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. But I can't. The King does not forgive anything, and I am his sworn shield. What do you think would happen if I just left? I can't hide anywhere, girl. My scars will not let me."

"We will never see you again." Sansa whispered, finally having found her voice. "We will be in Dorne, safe. And you will be here. You will protect the King. You will fight when Stannis comes. And even if you survive that battle, there will be another. And then another. Until everyone is dead, but the one that will sit on the Iron Throne. And even if you survive all of those battles, too. If your brother survives, you will not be able to come to us, either. Only if Tywin Lannister, and Cersei Lannister, and King Joffrey _and_ your brother die, you might be able to follow us. If you aren't forced to swear loyalty to another king. You will never be able to come to us. Not without putting us at risk."

* * *

Arya could feel herself go numb inside as she listened to her sisters words. _You will never be able to come to us._ She looked up at Sandor, hoping that he would say she was lying, that he would find a way. That he would come to Dorne, and marry Sansa. That he would continue teaching her how to fight. But he didn't say anything. He simply starred at her sister, face blank, as his arm was still wrapped around her, his grip tightening on her shoulder.

"Its not fair." She whispered quietly, struggling to free herself from his grasp. "Its not _fair_!"

She had finally had a family again, she had finally found some kind of peace, she and Sansa were finally happy, and now that was all supposed to be over? They were supposed to be shipped off to another country, far away from everyone they knew. From everyone they loved. And Arya loved Sandor so much. Almost as much as she had loved her own father.

"You can't! I won't let you send me away! I won't!" She yelled, rushing off, brushing past the Imp as she headed for the door, ripping it open and running out, not caring that the man that followed Tyrion around everywhere had to basically dive out of the way to avoid a collision. She was not going to let them send her away. She was not going to lose another family.

"I will tend to your sister, Lady Sansa." She heard the dwarf say, nodding slowly, still not able to look away from the man she loved. The door closed, she could hear the sell sword speaking to the Lord quietly, before their footsteps faded.

"..Is there no other way?" She finally asked. "Is there no other way then sending us away?"

"I have thought of it all night, little bird. I cannot think of any other way to keep you alive." He answered, and Sansa closed her eyes at the burst of pain radiating from her chest to her head and stomach. She felt sick.

"And you have decided that Arya and I will go as handmaidens to Myrcella." She had to hear him say it, he had to confirm it to her. Or she wouldn't be able to believe it. Tears were already dripping from the corner of her eyes onto her lap. "And we will be with her in Dorne. And you will be here."

"Sansa. Don't." Sandor almost begged. But Sansa shook her head, slowly, taking a deep breath as she tried to calm her racing heart. She couldn't leave him. It would kill her. How was she supposed to be without him? After all that had happened? How was she supposed to lead a happy life while Sandor was here, in King's Landing, with war at their door step?

No. She knew that she would never be able to survive being separated from him for what could be forever. She shook her head, breathing deeply, cleansing herself from the anger, and the pain she felt.

"I am not leaving." She said softly, looking at him once more, moving to sit closer to Sandor. She reached out her hand, pressing it to the scarred side of his face, brushing over the skin with her thumb. "I told you I'm not leaving you. Arya will go with Myrcella. She will be safe in Dorne. But I have given you my heart, and my life. And I am not going to abandon you."

"You aren't abandoning me, little bird. You are saving your life. And with that, you are saving mine." He argued, but Sansa quickly leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. She didn't want to hear any more.

"I have made my decision. I am not leaving, Sandor. I will stand by you. I will marry you. And I will give birth to your sons and daughters. You say that I will survive by leaving, but how could I survive without you by my side? The grief would kill me. Slowly, it would kill me."

Watching his eyes widen, Sansa couldn't help but smile. How could this man still not understand what he meant to her? How much she loved him, how much she needed him, not just to survive, but to _live_?

"And what if you get killed, Sansa?" He asked, suddenly enraged, his voice vibrating with his effort to keep calm. Sansa had seen it happen so many times. That anger that seemed to torture him with every breath. The anger that grew larger whenever he was afraid, or uncertain. The anger that turned Sandor Clegane into the Hound. "I could never forgive myself! I would die just as much!"

"I will not die, Sandor. Not anytime soon. We will spend our life together, until we are old and wrinkled, and go to the Stranger willingly. Together." How much she wished he believed in the gods, the way she did. They had brought them together, she was sure of it. They had lead them to each other. They were meant to be.

"How do you know that?!" He barked, grabbing her by her arms, as he had done so many times before. "How can you know that you will not be found out, and taken from me?! And do not fucking tell me that the _gods_ told you."

Sansa shrugged lightly, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him with a crooked smile. She knew that her belief in the gods, the old and the new, often angered him. That he thought that, if there were any gods, they would not bother with someone as him.

"They did not tell me." She started, and his grip around her arms lightened. "But I can feel it. They would not have brought us together like this if they didn't mean for us to stay together."

"Bloody hell girl." Sandor sounded exasperated, as if he simply could not believe how stupid she was being. Somehow, the redhead could understand his doubts. The gods had not treated him kindly, not really. They had kept him alive, but they had given him much grief. "How many times do I have to tell you until you understand?! Your fucking gods do not care for the likes of me! They never have!"

"They gave you me." She replied calmly. "And I will always be yours. Please Sandor, you must trust me."

"I can't trust you! I cannot let you stay! You _will _die! And then what?! What about your sister? What about me? What if we have a child by then? I cannot bare to lose you!"

The pain in his eyes almost made her cry again. But she knew she had to be strong, that she would have to convince him, somehow, that she was meant to stay with him. That there would be some way to get them to safety without having to leave him behind. That they could be together. And suddenly she remembered something.

"..We can color my hair." She whispered. How had she not thought of that? "No one will think of me as a Tully, a northerner yes, but never a Tully. Gregor is leaving to fight the wildlings with Tywin. And even when he comes back, I will no longer be in the brothel."

"That still leaves Littlefinger, even if Gregor were stupid enough to not recognize you, just because you colored your hair." Sandor snapped, still holding her tightly by the arms. "And do you really want your sister to go to Dorne alone?"

"She won't be alone. She will have Myrcella. She is about Arya's age." Shaking her head slightly, she moved to rest her forehead against his. "She will like Dorne. And maybe, we can join her one day. Your work here is not done yet. But maybe, when it is, we can follow. Lord Tyrion can help us. I am sure he will. You cannot force me."

"If it ever is. And I don't know if I trust the Imp. And believe me, girl. I could force you." He grunted, but finally seemed to relent. His hands rubbed along her shoulders, down to the small of her back, pulling her closer.

"But you won't." She whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her face against his neck, and inhaling deeply. "Lord Tyrion has given you no reason to doubt him, Sandor. For once, you will have to trust another person."

"Aye. I won't." He seemed annoyed by the fact that she was so sure of this, but did not argue further. "We still have to get rid of Littlefinger. Best silence him forever."

"Yes.." Sansa frowned. Baelish had been good to her, in his own way. She had never liked the idea of hurting anyone, much less murdering them.

"I'll take care of that." Sandor muttered, his lips pressing against the skin of her throat. "And I trust you, little bird. As much as I hate you for being so fucking stubborn. I trust you."

"Good. I know it cannot be easy for you, trusting me this way. But I promise you, it will all be alright." She sighed, closing her eyes as she felt his beard scraping against her throat, a sigh falling from her lips. "You must be careful. From what you told me, Lord Baelish will be more careful than ever after you threatened him, and he has his spies everywhere. And you are still hurt."

"Let that be my worry, woman. I will do what has to be done." He whispered, his hands moving to push the fabric of her dress from her shoulders, lower and lower, until her breasts were freed, cold air caressing them, making her buds harden.

"Sandor, you still burn." She protested, but when she felt his calloused hands rubbing against her breasts, rough fingers pinching her peaks, she could not help but moan. Truth be told, she was unnerved by the entire situation, worried about her sister and future husband, but as he fondled her, touching her in just the right places, her thoughts started to slip from her.

"Aye, little bird, I still burn. I burn for you." He growled, pulling her onto his lap almost roughly, his mouth latching onto one of her buds as he kept rubbing and gently pinching the other, making her moan out. "And I will always burn for you."

"As I will burn for you, always, my love." She answered, her words hushed, feeling the warmth between her legs spread. "But you are still injured.."

"Fuck that, woman. Forget everything around us."

And as she felt his teeth scrape over her sensitive skin, she could not help but give in to him, completely lost in his passion.

* * *

"Running around in the Keep is a dangerous thing, my lady." Tyrion scolded, looking into the defiant eyes of Arya Stark. She had made them chase her through almost the entire castle, and it was by sheer luck that she had not run into Meryn or Ilyn, or even worse, Cersei.

"I'm not a lady." She snapped, petulant as ever, making Tyrion smile, if only a little. She had so much fight in her, such courage. He could not help but silently admire her.

"Lady or not, Arya. It is dangerous still. You do not know who you could run into. I think it is best if you do not leave your room until the time of your departure has come, unless it is to see the Hound."

"I already told you that I'm not going. I'm not leaving him." She replied stubbornly, crossing her arms, shooting a hateful glance at Bronn, who was holding her by her shoulder, preventing another escape. "And neither is Sansa."

"I know that this must be difficult." Tyrion sighed. He seemed to be sighing a lot lately. "I know that he is.. important to you, and your sister. It is easy to see. But to keep him safe, you must be kept safe. And do you not want him safe?"

"Of course I want him safe! But..." she trailed off, lowering her eyes to the ground, pausing. "..I can't lose another family."

"But you would not be losing him, child.. He will always be your family. As will the family you have lost. You will be apart, but that does not make him any less your family than when you are with him. He will always be with you." He tried to reason, ignoring the way Bronn was grinning. Oh, he was enjoying watching his Lord argue with a little girl, speaking like a knight from the old songs, speaking of love and family. "And you will always be with him. And he will rest easier knowing you are far from harm."

"And if he dies?" She asked, almost timidly now. "What if he gets hurt again and dies? I won't be able to say good bye. I will not get to see him before he goes to the seven heavens."

"What makes you think the Hound is going to the heavens, girl?" Bronn snorted, making Tyrion close his eyes. The swell sword was a good man, without doubt, but too blunt with his words. "He's killed more men in a year than I have in my life."

"It was his duty!" Arya ground out, not turning to look at the taller male. "He is a good man. He has _honor._"

"Honor." Tyrion repeated warily. "Arya, for now, there is no better way. Myrcella does not leave for Dorne for another week. I promise you that I will try to find another way, but even a man with a big head and mind as myself cannot work miracles. That is for the god's alone. Now come with me. Shae will want to see you, she was quite taken with you. She can teach you how to be a handmaiden. Just in case."

* * *

Sansa was moaning loudly as she rode the hot member beneath her, head thrown back, her fiery hair falling over her back, brushing against his thighs. She never felt as complete as now, when she was connected to Sandor in such an intimate way. His hands gripped her waist tightly, his skin burning against hers as she rocked against him, drinking in the low moans and grunts she pulled from him.

"Little bird.." He gasped out, fingertips digging into her skin, no doubt leaving marks behind. "Faster, little bird.. Give me all you've got.."

His words made groan, spurred her on, ignited a fire deep within her. She could no longer take in their surroundings, could no longer think of anything but the man she was with, delicate fingers curled into his hair as his lips devoured her neck, her shoulder and breasts, relentless in his ongoing attack upon her body.

"Oh.. Sandor. Close.." She whispered, feeling the peak of her lust approaching, feeling herself tighten around him with each time she brought her hips downwards, pushing him as deep as she could, wanting to feel him entirely, wishing that she would never have to part from him, that this moment of bliss never had to end.

"Sansa.." He breathed, and his body jerked, hips thrusting upwards erratically as she came around him, pushing him over the edge with her, his hot seed shooting into her, a low moan joining her own cry of pleasure.

Panting, and covered in sweat, she sat on his lap, riding out the waves of her orgasm. She could feel his chest heaving below her hands, which she had placed there to keep her balance during their love making. Finally, when she felt she could move again, she pulled back, careful not to hurt him, moving to lay beside him.

"You are a sly man." She whispered quietly, pressing her thighs together as she felt his seed drip out of her. "You seduced me, despite knowing you needed rest."

"All I need is you, little bird." He answered, turning his head to press a kiss to her forehead. "Sansa.. I need to ask you something."

"Anything, my love." She looked up at him, curious blue eyes searching his face, slightly worried as his tone turned serious.

"..You said you wanted to be my wife. Have my pups."

"That is not a question." She teased gently, but then nodded. "Yes, Sandor. That is what I want. With all my heart."

"You will take my name?" He asked, his question surprising Sansa.

"Of course I will, my love. Why should I not?"

"Your sister." He began, halting his words, and Sansa realized that he was nervous. Leaning up, she pressed her lips to his, kissing him slowly, sweetly, again and again until she felt his muscles relax beneath her. Then, she pulled back.

"What about my sister?" Silence spread between them as he did not speak, but Sansa new better than to rush him. She would simply have to wait until he was ready, and she was happy to give him however much time he needed. They laid together for a while, his arm wrapped around her, her's placed on his chest, waiting patiently.

"Do you think she will want my name as well?" He finally asked.

Sansa's breath caught in her throat as she starred up at him, blinking. Was he offering what she thought he was? Was he willing to accept Arya into his family, not only by action, but also in name? Was he really offering...

"You want to give her your name?" She mumbled. She could not believe it. Could not believe this wonderful man. That he was willing to honor her sister, a child without name, or at least without name since they had gone into hiding, to give her his name, to help Sansa raise her.. She had known that he was fond of Arya. But never had she thought that he would offer _this._

"Aye. She is your family." He grunted, his face hard, gaze averted. "When we marry. She'll be mine too. She may be a bloody plague but.. oh for fuck's sake. She's like a pup to me. _My _pup. You are like her mother. Its only bloody right to give her my name."

Joy spread through Sansa, so violent and bright and all consuming that she almost forget to breath. Tears flooded her eyes for the second time this day, but these tears were born from happiness, and unconditional love for the man that held her so securely in his arms.

"...She will love you all the more if you give her your name, Sandor. You are.."

"A sly man?" He asked quietly, turning to look at her, one heavy eyebrow quirked.

"Bloody perfect." She finished, grinning broadly at him as he threw his head back, roaring with laughter.

"To hear that pretty mouth of yours say such words." He chuckled, shaking his head lightly, pulling her up to kiss her deeply. "Sansa and Arya Clegane. Who would have thought that was ever going to fucking happen."

Sansa giggled as well, shaking her head lightly as she looked at him. Never had she thought she would ever love anyone as much as him.

"Sansa and Arya Clegane. It sounds wonderful."

"Aye, little bird. It does."

* * *

_Thank you for every single of you that have stuck with this story for so long! I appreciate every favorite, follower and every single review! Thank you so much for all your kindness! _

_Loved it? Hated it? Want more? _


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa couldn't help but frown at her reflection. Black hair framed her face, making her look even paler than before. She couldn't decide if she loved or hated it. Running fingers through it, as if to reassure herself this was real and not just a dream, she turned to Sandor.

"So?" She asked expectantly. "What do you think?"

"It'll hide your Tully roots well enough. You look.. different." The man answered, perched up on his bed once more, back against the wall. Three days had passed, and his fever had broken during the second night. Only then did Sansa feel comfortable enough to leave her future husbands side long enough to have her hair colored by Shae.

"You don't like it." She huffed, pulling her hair back from her face, fastening it behind her ears, as she had done when she was a young girl in Winterfell, and her hair had hardly reached the middle of her back. "I don't think I like it either. But you're right. I do look different. Do you think Gregor will recognize me?"

"He'll know who you are once he see's you at my side." Sandor grunted quietly.

"So he won't see me at your side." Sansa answered, shrugging lightly as she stood from the chair in front of the mirror, which she had settled one once she had returned, to examine her new appearance. "At least not in a way that will let him know who I am."

"You make it sound so easy, woman." The man huffed, watching her carefully as she moved towards him, settling next to him on the bed. "I swear that if I didn't know better, I'd say you don't understand just how deadly he is."

"He can be as deadly as he likes. If he doesn't know who I am, and doesn't get close enough to hurt me, it won't matter." Sansa sighed, pressing her palm against the scarred side of his face. They had spoken about this time and time again, and still Sandor did not seem any less settled than he had when she had first told him she was not going to Dorne. Somehow, she could not blame him. But she was calm, serene. She knew they were going to be alright.

"You seen that pup of yours?" He asked, thankfully changing the topic. Sansa shook her head lightly.

"No. Lord Tyrion assures me she is fine, but she is still upset that she is being sent away. She won't see either of us." The young woman couldn't help but sigh at the thought of her little sister, hauled away in the room they had been given, too angry to see anyone. Arya's anger was, if nothing else, long lasting. Sansa wondered if she would come see them before she was forced to leave them for what might be years.

"She'll come 'round, little bird." He soothed, placing his much bigger hand over hers. "She's as stubborn as you are. But she will come see you before the ship sails."

"Your word in the gods ears, my love." Sansa answered quietly, shaking her head before she stood, busying herself with tidying the room.

"Leave that be, woman, the handmaiden will do that." Sandor scolded, almost growling as he watched her pick up his dirty clothes, bled through bandages, piling the dirty plates on the table.

"You scared the poor thing away, love. I would be surprised if she dared to come in here with you still in bed." Sansa answered, not able to hide the small grin on her face as she thought of the frightened young girl that had almost tripped over her own feet as she had interrupted their passionate lovemaking one morning.

"Then let things be as they are. I'll do it later."

"You are still injured. And you will not leave that bed until I let you." Sansa quipped, pouring him a glass of wine. She could see he was in pain, even if he thought he wasn't letting it on. Sansa's heart had warmed as she finally noticed how little wine he had drank in the last few days, no doubt to her and Arya's benefit, even if the little she-wolf wasn't aware of it. Carrying the cup over to him, she handed it over. "Now stop your complaining, or I might just have to silence you."

* * *

"You are a frustrating child." Shae called after her, but Arya didn't really care as she made her way back to her room. She hated learning all of these useless things, things she'd need to know for Dorne, where she'd be a handmaiden to the princess. Or was supposed to, at least.

Arya still stood firmly. She was not going to leave. And if she had to hide herself away until the bloody ship sailed without her, she was _not_ going. Lost in her thoughts, she walked with her head hanging, not particularly caring who or what she walked into. It really didn't matter to her. All she could think about was her sister, and Sandor, and how she would manage to escape them both, Shae, the Imp, and his sell sword until the ship was gone.

It was when she actually did bump into someone, her head flying up to look into clear green eyes, that she wished she had been more careful. Cersei Lannister was looking down at her, cat like eyes narrowing.

"Careful, boy." She said quietly, evenly, but Arya had watched enough cats in her life to know that the calm was merely an act, meant to fool the prey into safety before moving to the final attack. Arya quickly sank to her knee's, just as the Imp had told her to, her head bowed deeply.

"Forgive me, your grace." She said quietly, trying to sound as sincere as she possibly could. "I was not paying attention."

The guards behind the Queen regent shuffled lightly, waiting for their queen's orders. Cersei was known for her harsh decisions and judgment. She had thrown people into the cells of the Keep for less.

"You are forgiven, child." The blond said, her voice as sweet as honey, making Arya's blood chill in her veins. "Stand, dear, let me look at you."

"Yes, your grace." Arya stood, keeping her eyes lowered, not quite trusting herself to keep a straight face in front of the Queen. She was every bit as scary as Shae had told her. Beautiful, but cold, like the mornings first frost.

"What is your name, child? I haven't seen you here before." The queen said, moving a little closer, the fabric of her dress scraping along the stone floor, rustling with every move she made.

"Arya, your grace."

"And your second name, girl?" The woman prompted.

"I do not have a second name, your grace. Just Arya." The brunette could feel herself growing uneasy, shifting from one foot to the other. What did the queen regent want with her? What was she to her?

"Ah. A bastard girl in he Red Keep, that is unusual indeed." Cersei's words were soft as she reached out her hand, resting it against Arya's cheek, making the little wolf want to pull away and scowl at her. But she kept still, her eyes flicking upward for just a second. "And what would a girl without a name, like yourself, be doing here?"

* * *

Sandor hated watching her clean up after him. He had always looked after himself, after his wounds, his clothes, his weapons. Everything that had been his, he had taken care of. And now, there was this beautiful woman in his room, scuttling through around and doing it for him, while he sat on his bed utterly useless.

"Stop growling, Sandor." Sansa said, a teasing edge to her voice, making him grunt as he took another sip from the wine she had given him. _Stubborn woman_, he thought to himself. Once she had gotten an idea stuck in her head, she did not falter, and that worried him. Truth be told, he loved the way she'd glare at him, hands on her hips and lips pressed together firmly. But sometimes, and even he knew this, giving in and yielding was the best option. He wasn't convinced Sansa had ever even heard of the concept. She was a Stark through and through, strong willed and wild, when she had to be. His little bird.

"Stop cleaning, girl, and I'll stop growling." He shot back at her, making the impossible being laugh. He loved her laugh, loved how it chased a tremor of delight along his back each time. He was about to say more, when a knock on the door interrupted him. Sansa quickly dropped the dirty bandages she had just been holding into a corner, before rushing to open the door.

At first, all he could see was the brown haired plague, and he was relieved for just a second, until Sansa stood aside, her head bowed, making room for the queen regent to step into his rooms.

_Fuck_.

"Your grace." He said, slowly moving to stand, but Cersei lifted her hand, halting his movement.

"Stay still." Her words were firm, as they always seemed to be when she spoke to him, but Sandor had never been bothered by the woman's way of treating him. Truthfully, he preferred her to her inbreed son. He had looked after the female long before her son had been born, and though she had always been strict and firm with him, she had never mistreated him. "I was on my way to visit you, Hound, when I ran into this one. Or, she ran into me."

Cersei nodded towards Arya, who was now standing beside her bigger sister, right next to the shut door, brown eyes wide as she looked at him. Sandor wished he could move enough to walk over, grab the girl, and shake her until she was dizzy.

"She said she was coming to see you as well." Cersei continued, moving closer to his bed. "Girl, a chair."

Sansa immediately surged forward, collecting the chair she had been sitting on only minutes before, placing it behind the blond woman carefully, her head bowed. He thanked the gods that she knew how to act around a highborn, around a queen. It was bad enough that both Stark girls and Cersei Lannister were in one room together. It would have been worse had one of them insulted the lioness as well.

"I was wondering if the rumors were true." Cersei spoke, slowly settling on the chair, green eyes flicking to the retreating form of the one he loved so much more than words could say. "You did find yourself a girl, and a pup, it seems."

"Yes, your grace." He answered quietly, his hands clenching at his sides as he tried to look anywhere but the ones he considered his family.

"She's pretty, your woman." The queen looked at him, searching his face for some kind of information. He had learned years ago to keep a straight face around her, if one valued to keep one's secrets close. "Her pup.. not so much. Why is her hair so short?"

"She burnt most of it." He ground out, praying that his lie would hold up. "No choice but to cut it all off, your grace. Let it regrow healthy."

"I never thought of you as a man that would take what another already had. What many already had. Never less one that already had a child. A bastard child, of all things."

"..She's pretty, your grace." Sandor was at a complete loss of words. He wasn't good at this, using pretty words to hide the truth. He fought with his sword, his body, not his mind and tongue. And now, he was dueling a woman so skilled at this game as none other he had ever met.

"Yes, I already pointed that out, Sandor." The queen agreed, turning to Sansa. "Come here, girl, let me look at you."

"Yes, your grace." Sansa moved forward, standing at the queen's side as Cersei's eyes raked over her. For the first time in his life, Sandor sent out a prayer to all the bloody gods he could think of, that Cersei would not recognize the pale blue eyes.

"A northerner?" Cersei questioned.

"Yes, your grace."

"Where from?"

"White Harbor, your grace." The way she came up with answers so quickly, so easily, without even faltering, it made him adore her all the more.

"And you were.. employed at Lord Baelish's before?" She asked, and Sandor finally realized why she was here. Littlefinger.

"Yes, your grace." Sansa answered evenly. His heart was beating so hard against his chest he feared it would jump out. What had that fucker told her? What lies had he planted, and what was she going to do?

"Well.. That is quite a story. From White Harbor, to King's Landing, and all the way here." The softness in the Queen's words made Sandor want to retch. Something bad was going to happen, now, right here, and he would not be able to stop it. Not if it was the queen regent who made the request. "Its a story I'd like to hear sometime."

"Your grace, I assure you, its not half as interesting as it sounds." Sansa replied humbly, lowering her head. "I am sure there are things far more important than my story, your grace."

"Another time, then." Cersei smiled, and Sandor could feel the bile rise in his throat. That smile.. it never meant anything good. "Either way Hound, it seems you owe Lord Baelish a girl. He has consented to taking the pup. I do not know why, she will not earn him much by the looks of her. But I thought you would rather keep the mother than the child."

"..He wants the pup?" Sandor could barely speak, the anger so strong it was choking him. So this was Littlefinger's revenge. He couldn't take Sansa, not without the queen's or the kings consent, and for whatever reason, Cersei had decided that the Hound would be allowed to keep his woman. He wanted to say something, but Sansa beat him to it.

"Please, your grace. She's just a child, she would be no use to Lord Baelish. Please, if.. If he could reconsider.. " She pleaded, blue eyes flicking from Arya to him, and then back to the queen.

"It has been decided." Cersei cut her off, voice cold and firm. Then, she turned to him, and for the first time in his life did he see softness in her eyes, in her features. "You have served my family well, and loyally. You have protected my son. You deserve the woman you desire. We hope to see you standing at the King's side soon again. That is where you belong, Sandor. I will take the girl with me. Lord Baelish is waiting for her."

"Your grace.." He tried, but the woman stood, effectively shutting him up, turning to Sansa first.

"I am sure I will find time to hear that story of yours. As soon as you are married you will be spending all your time here. You will get used to it quickly." Then the queen turned, regarding Arya. To Sandor's surprise, the little girl did not look angry, or upset. No, the brown in her eyes was bright, warm, as if she was happy with this turn of events... Did she think that she was now safe from going to Dorne? Did she not understand what Littlefinger would do to her?

"Come now, Arya. Don't make my guards drag you." The queen said, smiling sweetly as she brushed passed the little she-wolf, who gave him and her sister one last glance, grinning widely.

And suddenly, he was no longer afraid of what would be done to her. But what she would do to others.

* * *

"So Baelish has taken Arya back to the brothel." Tyrion said quietly, pacing the room, looking ridiculous as his short legs moved quicker than they were used to, making the Lord waddle. "On the queen regents order."

"Yes." Sansa whispered, curled up tightly against the Hounds chest, wiping at her ever falling tears. "What are we going to do, Lord Tyrion? How are we going to get her back in time.."

"We will have to abandon those plans." The dwarf cut it, shaking his head. His day had just become infinitely worse. "The ship is leaving tomorrow, 4 days early, out of fear for Stannis. We cannot get her back out of his hands that quickly."

"Then what? We just leave her there?" Sandor growled out, making Tyrion halt his movement, staring him in the eye.

"What would you have me do, Hound? I am the Hand, yes, and I could quickly get her back into the Red Keep. But you and your family have now roused my sisters interest, and that is much more dangerous than you can imagine."

"But we can't just leave her with him, either!" Sansa cried, making the dwarf wince. He had never been good with hysterical woman. His experience with emotional women was limited. Whores didn't cry for their lost sister, or their injured husband. They did what they were paid for, and left.

"I am fully aware of that, my lady, but we must do this carefully. We cannot pull any more attention onto you and your sister than we already have, unfortunately. You are lucky that Cersei has some sort of soft spot for you Clegane, or Sansa would be back at the brothel with her sister."

"I don't give a fuck if she has a soft spot for me or not. Arya is a child. We can't bloody well just let him get to her. Fuck knows what he's planned. Fuck knows what _she's_ planning to do." The growling made by the much, much taller man had long stopped to intimidate the Imp, but he was not stupid enough to not fear the Hound. He was deadly when he was at his best, but injured, there was no telling what he would do. Tyrion had seen it too many times. Injured dogs had nothing to lose, and they fought to the death. And he knew that Sandor would do just that, if it meant to get Arya back unharmed.

"We will figure something out, but until then, you _cannot_ do anything stupid." Tyrion stressed his words as much as possible, hoping that somehow his words would get through to the pair. "You cannot just go and get her back. If Baelish goes to Cersei with the truth, and he will if we cross him once more, then all of this will have been for naught. Do you understand? We need to get rid of that man in a way that cannot be followed back to any of you. I know you are burning to get up and cut the man down where he stands Clegane, but for once, you must let me play the game I was meant to play. I will get you back your pup. But you need to trust me. Just as you have to, Lady Sansa. I will get her back."

"Unharmed." Sandor barked, startling the young woman in his arms. "You bring her back unharmed, Imp, or I will make sure you suffer just as much as she did. Do you hear me? _Unharmed._"

"I will do what I can." And with that, the dwarf turned and left them to themselves.

* * *

"Arya, welcome home." Lord Baelish greeted her, his smile wide as he stepped towards her. Arya wanted to punch him between the legs. But she couldn't do that, not just yet. She felt hope rise within her as she went through her plan one last time.

"Thank you, Lord Baelish." She said, smiling brightly at him, answering the embrace he pulled her into, letting him ruffle her hair affectionately. Because soon, he was going to pay for all the vile things he had done. She would make sure of it.

"Am I going to go help in the kitchens again?" She asked sweetly, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. She had always felt somewhat unsettled when she had caught the man's hazel eyes, but the way he looked at her now make her throat close up.

"No, dear girl. No, I think we are going to find another kind of work for you. You see, with your sister gone, I need another girl to do her work. You understand that, don't you?" His words were soft, but Arya knew better than to trust the soft tune.

"I do. So will I learn, just as Sansa has?" She asked quietly, inching away from the Lord a little more. "With the other girls?"

"Actually, precious little Arya.." The man smiled down at her, slowly sinking to one knee. "I was thinking.. you could help with the men I haven't been able to cater to."

Arya could feel fear slowly creeping up inside her as she felt his hands slowly lowering themselves for her shoulders down her sides, and onto her hips. It took all the will power she had to not just slam her fist into his face and run. But she couldn't do that, not without getting Sansa and Sandor in trouble. She'd have to be brave.

For her family.

* * *

"I can ask one of the girls to keep an eye over her, but.." Sansa sighed. Her eyes burnt, she had cried so much, and now it was as if she had no tears left.

"But that won't keep her safe." Sandor finished for her, and once more Sansa was thankful she had such a brave and strong man at her side. "The Imp will think of something, Sansa. He will. You once told me I had to trust him. Now, _we_ have to trust him."

"But what if he's too late? What if something happens to her before he can get to her?" Just the idea of her little sister being hurt made Sansa sick, her stomach turning violently. The brothel was such a vile place, and there were so many things that could happen to Arya..

"That's not going to happen." Sandor soothed, rocking her against his strong chest, and immediately, the young woman felt less afraid. The way he held her always made her feel safe, protected and warm. She simply could not fight his words, words she wanted to believe in so much. That her sister would be unharmed.

* * *

"I have called a meeting of the small council." Tyrion spoke quietly, so that only Bronn could hear. "Baelish will have to walk to the Red Keep in the dark."

"Bad things happen in the dark." Bronn said quietly, fingers running along the blade he had just sharpened.

"Yes, very bad things happen in the dark." The Imp agreed, exchanging a quick glance with the swell sword, who by now, he considered a friend. "I think you should go and find Lord Baelish on his way to the council. We wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

"Aye. Wouldn't want him to get hurt." Bronn answered slowly, standing. "Once Lord Baelish is seen after?"

"You find the girl, and you bring her back. You bring her back cloaked, so no one recognizes her. You bring her into the west wing, the one no one uses, and you hide her away. Then, you will go get her sister, and take her to her. You _cannot_ be seen, Bronn, by anyone."

"The night is dark. No one will see." The male assured, before he held his hand out. Tyrion sighed, tossing the pouch of money into his extended hand.

"Just get it done."

* * *

Arya sat where Littlefinger had left her. Naked, in a puddle of her own blood, mixed with her salty tears, and other liquids she didn't even want to think of. She hadn't fought him. She had let him. And now she felt sick.

Was this what her sister had gone through, before Sandor had taken her away? Had she felt like this, too? Somehow, she found the strength to at least stand. Her legs shook under her weight, but she could stand. And that was something.

She had to be strong, she kept reminding herself that she had to. What had happened had happened to keep Sansa and Sandor save. Slowly, she moved over to the bowl of water one of the girls had brought to her. Dipping her hands into it, she splashed her face with the cool liquid, feeling at least a little better. Slowly, she started to wash her body, one part after the other, removing all the marks she could, and trying not to think of how she had gotten them.

The place between her legs ached horribly, burned even, but when she touched her hand to it, hoping that the water would sooth the burn, she hissed with pain and pulled her hand back. Water was not going to help this.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. She had done this for Sansa. For Sandor. She had done this for her family. She had protected them. What were a few bruises against the gaping wound in Sandor's side? What was one night of this against the many nights Sansa had done this, just to keep them housed and feed?

Arya didn't want to cry, she really didn't, she wanted to be brave and fierce, like Sandor was. Turning, Arya saw her clothes laying wrinkled on the floor, discarded by the Lord that had just mistreated her in the worst way Arya could think of. She would have preferred that fake knights biting slaps to this. Shaky, small hands gathered up the clothing, slipping into them slowly, trying not to irritate her hurt body any more than it already was.

Hours must have passed since he had left her in this room. The sun was down, darkness enveloped the entire city. She was about to go to the door and find her old room, wanting nothing more but to go to sleep and forget that any of it happened. Her sister and the Hound had been through a lot worse, she told herself, and she had no right to break down once something bad happened to her. Not if letting it happen meant she was helping.

But before she even reached the door, it flew open, a hooded man stepping in, and giving her a quick glance.

"Throw this on, child, quickly." He urged, throwing her a hooded cape. "We don't have much time."

Arya recognized the voice all too well. Bronn, the sell sword of Lord Tyrion. She had met him before, had felt his hand on her shoulder as the Imp had spoken to her. And now he was here.

"I can't." She answered quietly, catching the cape and holding it out to the man. "I can't go back. If they find me, they'll be in trouble."

"Don't worry about that now, child. Lord Tyrion has taken care of it. Come now, put it on, and let us go." He urged, grabbing the cloak and throwing it over her, pulling the hood in place. "No one will know where you are. You are safe. Come."

Arya wanted to protest once more, but the loud, shrill cry or horror interrupted her. She looked at Bronn, blinking slightly, and seeing something in his face that answered all her unspoken questions. She nodded, wrapping the cloak around herself, and hurrying after him.

She was going home. Just a few hours too late.

* * *

Sansa was sleeping, sleeping so deeply he thought he might even get away with slipping from her grasp and getting himself another glass of wine. She had cried herself to sleep, and the sight had broken his heart. He should have been the one to set things right, not the Imp. This was _his_ family, _his_ responsibility.

Testing his strength, he flexed his left hand, finding that it was reasonable strong for the injury he had sustained. The little bird's coddling hadn't made him go soft. He could hold a sword with this. He could strike. But would his legs move as he was used to? He hadn't stood on them for days, not really, just long enough to take a piss in his chamber pot. Would he be able to strap on his armor and fight? He would at least have to try.

Fuck the Queen regent, fuck the Lannisters, _fuck_ the King himself. He was sick and tired of being their lapdog, vicious as it may be, but still a lapdog. He would take his family away, far away from all of this. From the pain, the ever lasting shadow over their heads from the oncoming war, from everything that could ever make his pup or woman sad or upset. He would find a way.

Slowly, he eased himself out of bed, making sure not to wake the now black haired woman, draping the blanket over her slim body. Her face scrunched up in that adorable way he loved, but she settled, much to his relief.

Standing wasn't as bad as he had anticipated, but there was no way he was going to be able to carry the weight of his armor without it slowing him down too much. He could hold his sword, but that was it. It would have to be enough. Moving as quietly as he could, he dressed in the lightest of his breeches and shirts, slipping his belt around his hips, not caring that the leather rubbed against the rim of his wound under the shirt, irritating it further.

He couldn't just sit here and wait. He had to do _something._

First, he would get his pup back. That was the most important thing, followed closely by finally getting rid of littlefucker. Maybe, if he asked his bitch, Ros, she would help him. He could convince her to help, and then run the brothel once Baelish had died. She was a smart woman, and she clearly wanted more for her life. And that might be his chance.

Moving to pick up his weapon, he took it into his right first, fingers curling around the hilt carefully. He could, if he had to, fight with his right. But he preferred using his left hand, for it was the dominant one, and he was far more skilled and practiced with it. Not that the Mockingbird was a challenge to kill. No, it was the guards he probably had glued to his heels that worried the Hound. Baelish had replaced the men that Gregor had killed, but would they actually do their duty to him, protect him against the Hound himself? Or would they step aside? He simply didn't know.

Turning back to the sleeping form in his bed, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Sandor Clegane vanished, giving the Hound more room within. And the anger spread like wildfire.

* * *

Bronn had never believed in true love. Sex, yes, maybe even affection, but love had never been anything he found himself wanting, or aspiring for. And yet, for just a few seconds, as he had watched the little whore and the Hound, along with the child he had just rescued, he wondered if it might be worth to at least try. Try and love someone as much as himself. Mayhap even more.

"Almost there, Arya." He soothed, his glance flicking to the child for a moment before focusing back on his goal. The streets were normally empty at night, but the murder of Lord Baelish, the Mockingbird, owner of the most popular brothel in King's Landing had rose half the city it seemed. They had to be careful.

"You okay to climb?" He asked her, but not waiting for an answer. The roof's were their way to go. They couldn't risk sneaking through the alleys, not now, and he didn't feel safe enough to hide out with her somewhere within. The sooner he got rid of her, the better.

Grabbing her arms, he slowly moved her towards a tall tree, stretching far enough to climb onto one of the roof's above them. If they moved quietly, nobody would catch them. Hopefully.

And just as he wanted to urge her forward, the little shit bolted. Bonn cursed silently, running after her, wondering if she had a death wish until he saw who she had run to. The impressive form of the Hound was now in the shadows with them, the girl clinging to him so hard, he wondered if he could actually choke the man around his thick neck hard enough to make him pass out.

"Hound." He greeted quietly, receiving nothing but a grunt in return. Well, over the roofs was out of the question now. "We better get moving, unless you want them to catch us."

* * *

Sandor had almost struck the small figure that had suddenly crashed into him as he had made his way towards the brothel, making sure his cloak covered his face. Not that there were many men his size in Kings Landing, but it was better than nothing, and if he didn't stray from the darkness too much, he would make it unnoticed.

His train of thought, though he had to admit it probably hadn't gone much further than 'Safe her, slit his throat', had been interrupted by something bumping into him so forcefully he always fell. And as he looked down, there she was, his pup, the little she-wolf, strong and fierce, and.. bruised.

Growling, he bent down just enough to pick the child up, letting her wrap her skinny arms around his neck and hold onto him as hard as she wanted.

"What has he done to you, little wolf?" He whispered into her ear, but she didn't answer, shaking her head quickly. It would have to wait. He couldn't make her speak here, not the way things were. They were too exposed, too vulnerable. And he had no doubt that if he checked Bronn's sword, he would find the blood of a certain Lord that was now probably long dead.

"Hound." He replied to the greeting with a short grunt, going over the different ways to get to the Red Keep, trying to find out which was the smartest, the quickest, and safest way to go. "We better get moving, unless you want them to catch us."

"Aye, I know that. Where were you going to take her?"

"West Wing."

The West Wing. Unused since Cersei had come to King's Landing, and found a picture of Robert's one true love hanging in one of the room's. No one had ever stepped foot into that part of the castle again, not unless they could avoid it. The Keep was big enough, the wing wasn't missed. And it was empty. No doubt the Imp's plan.

But how to get there? He would have sent Arya with the sell sword, distracted the rest of the people, but by the way she was holding on to him he could already tell that if he as much as tried to pry her from his body, she would scream.

"Over the roofs, then." He said quietly, looking at the other man. "Round to the west entrance. Passed the guards, if there are any, and into a room."

"You can't climb the roofs with us, Clegane. You're injured, and much too heavy. Everyone would hear you moving over their heads." Bronn threw in, and Sandor hated to admit that he was right.

"We could try the outer rings. Hope that the scream didn't echo all the way to the walls. Make our way round from there." Bronn suggested, and even though the walk would be long, strenuous for him, but it was their best bet. He just needed to know one thing before they started their secret retreat.

"He dead?"

"..Aye. Horrible thing. Must have been a thief, took the poor Lord's money."

And that was good enough for him.

* * *

_I'm sorry for the long wait on this chapter! But, I have finally completed my move, and will now be able to update more regularly again! Thank you for reading, faving, following, and of course reviewing! _


	7. Chapter 7

Sandor's shoulders were strong and warm. Arya found that while she pressed her cheek against him, she felt nothing but warmth and happiness, and everything that had happened in the last hours was suddenly so far away. She was grateful that he hadn't put her down, hadn't forced her to go with that sell sword. He would stay with her until he was convinced she was safe. The sentiment made her eyes tear up.

He was keeping her safe.

But she couldn't let him keep carrying her. His breathing was already labored, and he looked pale, his arms normally as strong as steel now trembling ever so lightly. He was hurting, and carrying her wasn't making it better.

"Let me down." She whispered quietly, squirming gently in his firm hold.

"Nay, pup. I ain't putting you down till we get to where we want to be." He growled back quietly, halting behind Bronn as the male turned around a corner. Arya didn't know how long they had been walking, but she recognized the area. They were at the outer ring, the Wall that signalised the end of the city, so far away from its center and the Keep, it was at least an hours walk.

"No, Sandor, I can walk." She protested, squirming a little harder. "Please, you're hurting, and I want to walk! We won't make it back if you keep carrying me!"

"She's right, Hound. We've taken much too long to get here as it is, and the way back into the city, to the Keep will be even more dangerous. You need to put her down." The brunette male urged quietly, for once agreeing with the girl.

"Don't you tell me what to do, bloody fool." Sandor grunted, following Bronn into the dark alley, the smaller man having sighed in annoyance and then shrugged before making the move. He wasn't going to test the Hound's patience, and who knew, maybe they would make it back. If anyone did with that wound and a child on his arms, it was Sandor Clegane.

"Please, Sandor, Please." Arya begged, feeling surprisingly distraught by Sandor's refusal of, what she considered, her help. "I need to walk, please, I want to!"

"Enough!" Sandor finally barked, scaring a few birds and a cat that had settled in the many nooks and crannies of the wall. Arya swallowed, but shut her mouth.

The Hound was beyond reasoning.

* * *

His side burned like fire. Like bloody fucking fire. It almost took his breath away. Every single step was agony. But he was doing it for his pup. His child, maybe not by blood, but by heart, and he was going to carry the injured little wolf to safety. He wasn't going to put her down.

Breathing became harder as they had finally made it to the outer ring. Now, they would have to follow it, and once they reached the spot that was nearest to the Keep, steal through the city. That meant they hadn't even made half of the way yet. Sweat had started forming on his face and scalp, and his hair was plastered firmly to his head.

He could have been bleeding from his eyes for all he cared. He wasn't putting her down.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, imagining his little bird calling to him, worried for her husband and child. It was all he could do to not scream. It took every bit of energy he had in his entire body. One step after the other. Just one after the other. Just a little longer, and he would have returned his pup to his wife, and they would both be safe long enough for him to sleep a few hours.

He could hear her calling for him, her soft voice laced with worry. When he closed his eyes a second time, quickly opening them once he realized that they had closed, he swore he could see her standing by his window, his shirt in her hands, softly whispering his, and her sister's name. But it was gone half a second later, and Sandor shook his head. He was going mad with pain.

"Almost there, Hound." Bronn whispered, the words being such a relief that the tall man almost sank to his knee's. His body had no dimension, ripped and teared and tugged at by the pain, pulling him apart bone by bone, only to put him back together and start again.

Almost there.

* * *

Bronn had never wanted to kill the Hound, having never received the order or been given any reason to want the man dead. Right now, he wanted the man dead. They were moving too slow, and the pain the other man must have been feeling made his breath loud, and his steps as well. He prayed to the bloody gods that he'd survive this.

Reasoning with the Hound was like reasoning with a wall. You could talk and hit at it as much as you wanted, unless it was old and brittle, it wasn't going down. And the Hound was neither old nor brittle. In fact, Bronn was impressed.

It seemed the male was using sheer willpower to keep the frightened girl in his arms by the time they had made it to the Keep. Brown eyes looked numb, and yet wary as he turned around to inform him that they were almost there. Clegane looked like he was going to faint.

"Lets go then." He growled, and they surged forward, from shadow to shadow, until finally, the wooden door that would be their entrance point was in view.

"You don't got the key by chance?" He asked the Hound as they stood before the massive wooden door. The snarl was enough of a reply for Bronn to lower himself onto the ground, working on the lock with his tools.

"Few more minutes." He heard the Hound mutter to the child, which then gave a soft whimper. He felt sorry for the little lass, but he hadn't been quick enough, and that simply wasn't his fault. Baelish had worked too quickly. But she was alive, and that was a lot, in his opinion. She would get over it.

Finally, the tell tale sound of metal clinking against metal let him sigh in relief. The door was open. Quickly, he stood, pushing it open.

"Come on now, not much farther." He whispered, letting the Hound go in first. He would pick the next best room in this gods damned wing, and dump them there. He had done his duty, and he wasn't going to die for these people.

Once a suitable room was found, he left them to their own devices, throwing one last look into the room. The Hound was half sitting, half laying on the old bed, still made up as if it was going to be used, but dusty. Arya was cradled against his chest as he spoke to her, though Bronn could not hear what he said.

Shrugging it off, he moved out of the room and closed the door. He was going to report back, bring his Lord to them, and then go to the brothel.

It had been too long of a day.

* * *

Tyrion had waited impatiently all night for Bronn to return, cursing under his breath as he walked up and down the length of his room.

He had given a boy a little coin to stand at the Keep's entrance all night, and report to him should anything important happen. Like the Hound and Bronn being dragged in by the Guard, and brought before the King to face the consequences of their crimes.

The sun was already threatening to rise when he finally heard a knock on the door. Seconds later, Bronn opened the door just wide enough to stick his head in, and nod. It was done. It was finally done.

The dwarf sank onto a chair as a weight lifted off his chest. He would never have forgiven himself had the girl been lost to Baelish and his sort. He didn't know how Cersei had kept him in the dark about this meeting, but then, his sister certainly had her ways. Almost jumping out of his chair a few moments later, he rushed to the door.

"Let us get her sister. How is the girl? Did you see Clegane?"

He remembered all too well how Lady Sansa had stormed into his room only a few hours ago, demanding to know if the Imp had sent her man somewhere, or if the King had called for him. Shaking his head, he had felt a horrible pain in his forehead. The Hound had run off to do the gods knew what, while Arya was maybe already safely on her way back to the keep.

"Aye, ran into him on our way back. Took him with us. Fool carried the girl the entire way, we had to walk the outer ring with his injury. Wouldn't surprise me if we came back and the man was dead by the looks of him." Bronn had said, their voices hushed as they made their way to the older wolfs room.

"He is a fucking fool." Tyrion agreed, opening Sansa's door right after knocking. The young woman was standing at the window, grasping tightly onto a large piece of clothing, whispering to herself. Her eyes were red, her skin pale, cheeks streaked with her tears.

"Come my lady." He said quietly, and Sansa nodded, but rushing over to her dresser first.

* * *

Sansa had often thought how it would have been when she had never met Sandor. She would have spent many years in the brothel, alone eventually, when she sent Arya off to a better place.

Or maybe she would have been killed during the riots. Or, if they had never survived the attack on their family, would she still have met him, maybe in another life? Were they destined to be together?

Yes, they were. She had known that the moment she had laid eyes on him, that this was not just some man, that they were meant to meet, and that they had some sort of connection. She had felt it so deeply inside her the spark it ignited was almost burning her nerves. She would never have experienced true happiness without him.

When she had woken, cold and alone, her heart had stopped. Scanning the room quickly in her fear, her suspicion was confirmed. Sandor was not in the room, in fact, his sword was missing. And she knew immediately where he had gone But had he done so on his own, or had he been called on?

Rushing to dress herself properly, she hurried to Lord Tyrion's room, forgetting all her courtesy, and barged in. The Imp was still awake despite the late hour, and looked as surprised as she had felt once she asked him if he knew where Sandor was. He had not ordered him to do anything.

He had gone for Arya himself.

Sansa had cursed then, for the first time in her life, cursed her stubborn man and the Queen Regent, the Mockingbird and all the other people that had somehow contributed to their situation. The half-man had comforted her as much as possible, offering for her to wait with him in the Hand's tower. But Sansa had only shook her head. If someone saw them together, they would be in trouble, and Sandor had to return to his room eventually. She would wait for him there.

Grabbing one of his worn shirts, she pressed it to her nose, inhaling deeply the scent of sweat, wine, and Sandor. It comforted her as she moved to the window, too nervous to sit, much less sleep. No, she could not settle before she knew her family was safe.

And so she started to pray. Pray that her love and her sister were returned to her safely. Pray for a successful escape from this horrible city. Pray that they would find peace and happiness soon. She prayed for hours as tears fell from her eyes and onto his shirt, until she no longer had any more tears to give.

And after what seemed an eternity, the door was flung open, and there the half-man stood, his face serious. She immediately knew what was wrong. One of them was hurt, either Sandor or Arya, as Bronn stood steadily and calmly at his Lord's side. She rushed over to her drawer, pulling needle, candle, match and thread from it, showing it into a small pouch.

"We'll need wine." She whispered quietly. Whoever was in pain would need it. They couldn't go to the grand maester now, not with Arya having been sent to the brothel by the Queen Regent. And what was she going to tell the old, but smart man how Sandor had gotten injured once more?

"Where are they Bronn? We can find them without you. Go get wine from the kitchen." She heard the Lord speak, and an annoyed grunt from the swell sword as she checked over everything she had stuffed into the back, deciding it was everything she would need.

Bronn had told them in which Room they were, and the Imp and Sansa quickly made their way down to the west wing, and into the room. The sight made her blood freeze.

Arya lay crying on top of him, but he was pale, as pale as death. She noticed that his chest was barely moving, and in that moment did the adrenaline surged through her. Running to his side, the Imp helped her pull Arya back, who was thoroughly bruised. She wished she could take care of her sister right away, but Sandor needed her more.

"Little Bird.." Sandor breathed, his eyes barely open. "Brought back.. the pup."

"I know, I know you did, Sandor. Thank you so much, my love." Sansa whispered as she shoved his shirt up. It didn't make him flinch, and that was a bad sign. He was no longer reacting to pain. On the other hand, that meant she could burn the wound out without him suffering. All the stitches had ripped from his wound, the surrounding skin an irritated red, blood having seeped out of into and down his side, until it reached the hem of his breeches. Sansa wanted to scream. "Hold still, Sandor, husband, please. Do not move."

Sansa barely got a reply. Panic surged in her, the man that was normally so vocal, so loud, now not even able to speak a full sentence. She heated the needle and burnt out the wound, slowly, thoroughly. Sandor groaned weakly once or twice, but that was all the interaction he could manage. Meanwhile, she heard Arya weeping into the Imp's chest as they sat behind her.

"Sansa... listen to me. Look at me." Sandor rasped, placing his hand at her cheek as she started to stitch him up.

"Just a minute, my love. I'm almost done." She soothed, not lifting her gaze from the wound the was sewing shut. "Just a little longer."

"Bloody hells woman, look at me wife!" Immediately, Sansa's head snapped up, and she stared into his eyes. Never had he called her that, but the way he said it now frightened her more than it soothed her.

"What is it, Sandor?" Her voice shook as she looked at him, her hands trembling slightly.

"Don't cry. If the stranger takes me." He breathed, making her shake her head violently, wanting to talk, but was given no chance. "IF the stranger takes me. You can't cry. You take.. take that little sister of yours and you run... You hear me woman? You.. You run as fast as you fucking can. Promise me.."

"I promise, husband. I promise that if the stranger takes you I won't cry, and I will take Arya and run." She answered frantically, going back to the task at hand. She simply couldn't look at him like this, his skin so gray, and eyes so dark. She couldn't bare it. "But he won't come for you tonight, Sandor, he won't. Because we haven't married yet. And I haven't had your pups. And Arya hasn't beat you in a fight yet."

All those things still had to happen, all those things she, no, _they_ had dreamed off. They were all still to come, and Sansa simply refused to believe that they had only been dreams. Finally she was done, ripping the thread with her teeth and knotting it up.

"Aye, little bird.. still to come.."

Bronn was finally back with the wine, and Sansa poured a fair amount of it over Sandor's wounds before trying to get the man to drink. But the Hound wouldn't open his eyes. Sansa couldn't hold back the sob that tore through her, before sipping some of the wine herself, carefully opening his mouth, letting the liquid drip into his mouth. She made sure to not give him too much at once, dribbling little by little into his open mouth until he swallowed, and then repeated the whole thing.

* * *

She gave him an entire cup this way, patient and gentle, the way only a Lady could be. Tyrion watched the young wolf tend to her mate. It was heartwarming, knowing that such unconditional love still existed. The girl in his arms suddenly stirred.

"Arya." He said softly, loosening his arms around her as she squirmed away from him. The taller female immediately moved to her sister, now that she was no longer weeping into the the half-man. Tyrion waited outside as she tended to her sisters wounds, but he already knew what had happened. Sometimes, spiders were very useful.

As he was called back inside, the look of horror was clear on Lady Sansa's face, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it. The brunette was sitting on the bed, fully clothed, staring at the man that laid on the bed.

"Is he asleep?" Arya suddenly asked, making the Imp glance over to Clegane. The man was probably more unconscious than asleep, but he wouldn't be the one to tell her that.

"Yes, Arya. He's sleeping." He said, wanting to spare Sansa from lying to her little sister. He wished he could have been somewhere, _anywhere _else. Arya wasn't stupid. She could see what they could all see. Death.

Suddenly, her small hand stretched out, grabbing the much bigger hand of the Hound. At first, the girl only held his hand, as if she wanted to comfort him. But then, she started tugging on it, while her sister sat helpless next to her on the floor.

"Sandor, you need to wake up." Arya whispered weakly. "You have to. Sansa needs you. And I need you, too. You need to wake up."

The little wolf almost whispered, and Tyrion couldn't stop himself from looking away. The scene was too intimate, to painful to watch. Tyrion had never witnessed anything so pure and so unbelievably sad.

"Wake up, please." Arya begged, her voice high and strained. Small hands snapped forward, a thin body suddenly straddling the Hound's thighs as angry, tiny fists came down against his chest.

Arya was yelling now, screaming at the man to open his eyes. The sudden change of the situation to something so much more dramatic shocked him, and he found himself standing dumb folded as he watched Sansa trying to pull her shrieking sister off of the man.

He had just caught himself when the door opened suddenly, and in rushed Shae, helping the Lady pull Arya off of the man, and into their soothing embraces. The girl screamed and screamed, until finally Shae placed her hand over her face, silencing her desperate cries.

"Keep her quiet!" He hissed, moving to close the door quickly. "If they find us, she's dead, and so will he and Sansa be."

Shae shot him a look that screamed "I know that, you idiot." That's what he appreciated about her so much. She wasn't going to bow to him just because he was a Lannister, and she didn't judge him for being half a man. Fierce, but kind, a mixture Tyrion found intoxicating.

He wished he could have helped, could have helped to calm Arya, and to chase away those silent tears Sansa was spilling as she held on to her sister, right next to the man she loved. And he was probably going to die.

"Arya please, quiet down!" He tried, kneeling next to the two women and the child. "Listen! You have to be quiet, or they'll find us! Do you understand?! You're getting us all killed!"

"She's just a child, Tyrion." Shae said quietly, but the anger spoke freely in her voice. Her anger was something he happily took over being discovered by someone, and his firm words seemed to have finally calmed the little wolf.

Her screams ebbed away as she calmed, now sitting calmly between Shae and Sansa.

"..Both of you need sleep." He said wairly, eying the Stark sisters. "Lay down with him. Gods know he probably won't be able to tell."

His comment earned him another pointed glare by Shae, but Tyrion shrugged. What else was there to say? They all knew the Hounds life was in danger. It was now up to the Stranger, if it was his time to go.

"Shae and I will keep watch."

* * *

Sansa woke just as the sun stood its highest. Arya was wrapped around her like a vine, still fast asleep. And for a second Sansa was confused as to how she had come to sleep in this huge bed, with her little sister in her arms. All too soon, reality came to her.

Quickly she turned her gaze to Sandor. She hadn't wanted to fall asleep, had forced herself to lay still while Arya rested, and make sure Sandor's chest kept moving with his breaths. They were shallow, but they were still there, Sansa could see them even in the dark, heard the small sound he made as he exhaled. But sleep must have crept up on and taken her.

Much to her relieve, Sandor was still breathing. The tension in her body left her, making her body ache. She was so tired, all she wanted to do was go back to bed. But no, she had to check on Sandor, and Tyrion and Shae would have other things to do than just sit around.

Much to her surprise, the room was empty as she looked around it. Shrugging, Sansa assumed that they had good reason to leave them. She trusted Lord Tyrion. He wasn't going to betray them.

Moving to the injured Hound's side, and making sure she didn't wake Arya as she untangled herself from the little wolf, she pushed up his shirt. The wound was still irritated, but not as badly as before. The stitches had held, and Sandor's skin was not gray any longer, though he was still ghostly pale. Decided that she should keep him hydrated, Sansa moved to a pitcher of water, not even trying to wake Sandor. She did what she had done the day before. First water, and then some wine.

The rest of the wine, she poured carefully over his wound. He wasn't going to survive if it festered. He might not even survive this. Sansa swallowed hard, pushing the unwelcome thoughts as far away as she could. He _would_ live. He just had to.

The door opened, startling her, but it was only Bronn that came through the door, looking about as tired as she felt. He held another wineskin in one hand, balancing a small platter with food in the other.

"Sorry about that lass, but no one else could get food and wine. I was as fast as I could." He said, placing both items on the table.

"Its alright, my Lord." She said quietly, gazing at her husbands face. Yes, husband. For that was what she was to him, had been long before this moment. They may not have been married by a septon, or exchanged their vows before the old gods, but that didn't matter. They were husband and wife.

"Call me Bronn, lass. No need to be so formal." Bronn replied, settling into one of the long unused chairs.

"Sandor didn't like it when I chirped." Shesaid, more to herself than to the male, running her fingertips along his scarred cheek. "He's always blunt."

"Aye, that he is. You can say many things about Clegane, but him being a liar ain't one of them." Bronn agreed quietly, and Sansa could tell that he was looking at her. Not in a bad way, more like he was wondering about her.

"No, he's not a liar." She whispered, turning her head to look at the sell sword. "What are you thinking about?"

* * *

Bronn felt like a little boy that was caught doing something forbidden. Brown eyes avoided the steady gaze of the young women before him. How had she known he had been thinking about anything?

"..You love him." He finally said, deciding to be honest for once in his life. The girl had been through enough, sung and believed too may lies. "I was just wonderin' what its like. To love someone so much."

"..Its heaven and hell in once. Its everything you want, and don't want at the same." Her words were spoken softly, but he could clearly sense the passion behind them as he watched her run her thin fingers through her man's hair. "And once you have it.. you need it. Its like a fire, a fire so big it could burn you within seconds. But instead, it licks at your skin, and burns you when it likes. Its the most wonderful thing anyone can experience."

"Even if it hurts?" He questioned. Bronn had gone through a lot of pain in his life, and it was seldom worth anything. Could the good really outweigh the misery he was currently witnessing? A broken family, a woman about to lose her man, a child their father. What joy could possibly outweigh such sorrow?

"Yes, even when it hurts. Because hurt is a part of it. Never the bigger, but still a part. And we all need pain, to appreciate happiness." The woman's words made him think, and once more he was surprised at how intelligent the young wolf was. Her words made sense.

They sat in silence for a few hours. Bronn could feel himself grow bored, hoping that Podrick or someone else would show up and he could go to bed. Sansa had eaten, and woken her sister to eat as well. Every hour, she fed the man water and wine, and while Clegane did look a little better, Bronn was still not convinced the man would ever wake again.

* * *

Arya had woken up right before the sun set, and she still felt tired. Sansa helped her apply some ointment onto her burning thighs once she had finished looking her over before, and Arya was pleased to note that she could move her legs without the burning pain. It was still uncomfortable, but no where close to what it had been.

Turning her head, she found her sister sitting next to Sandor's bed, her head, arms, and upper body draped on the bed as she slept next to the fearsome man. Arya tilted her head, watching her sister. She and Sansa had never gotten along before their family had died. Now, she felt like an idiot for fighting with Sansa at all. She was a wonderful sister. She had just been too stubborn to see it.

Turning to Sandor, Arya swallowed. Once Ned had died, she had sworn herself that she would never have a father again. A family, but never a father. And then she had met the Hound. She had refused her own feelings for him in the start, not wanting to allow herself to respect and adore him. But finally, she had given up and admitted to herself a truth she had never once put into words. He was like a father to her.

Rougher than Ned, ruder, but a fierce protector. And in his own way, he was kind to her. Where Ned had held her and told her he loved her, Sandor growled and barked, but he had never once not fought for her. He had kept her safe.

Scooting towards the man, she laid her hand on his burnt cheek, sighing deeply as she felt his chest rise and fall against her knee's.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you." She whispered quietly. "And for hitting you. You can sleep as much as you want. I promise. I won't be mad. But you have to wake up again. That's all I want. Sleep for a week if you have to. But you have to wake up again. Please, father."

* * *

"How is he?" Shae asked quietly, watching the Lady Sansa sitting next to him and holding his hand, as she had for days now.

"His breathing has grown stronger. And he seems to hear us, he reacts when spoken to. But he hasn't.."

Shae nodded her head. Nothing had changed, just as she had feared. When the Hound had started moving, twitching slightly when they spoke to him, the dark skinned woman had really thought he would wake soon. That they had gotten away with this unharmed.

But days had passed since then.

Somehow, they had managed to move Sandor back to his rooms, and taken Arya with them. The young wolf had refused to leave the man's side so vehemently that eventually her lion had given in. And while she sat here, and looked after the other two woman, he was in court, explaining to the King that the Hound had broken out in fever, and would be absence for longer than expected. Shae had no doubt that Joffrey would not be happy to hear this, but he wasn't their biggest problem.

Tyrion had told her about the Queen's visit, and now Shae was afraid that the lioness would come again, wanting to check on her son's sworn sword. Stannis was only a days sail away. He would be here soon. And she would have to take Sansa to the other Ladies and the Queen, while Tyrion made sure that Clegane and Arya were safe.

While she could understand the girls eagerness to be with her family, but she couldn't help feeling upset at the child as well. None of this would have happened had she just done what she had been told. Now, her poor lion was forced to work eve harder than he already had, and she didn't like seeing him this tired and strained.

But when she looked at Sansa and Arya, the smaller settled on her sisters lap, both holding on to the male's hand.. She shook her head, sighing quietly. She was never going to have this, not with the man she truly loved.

He was a lion. And she was just a whore.

* * *

"He's close." Despite the words being whispered, Sansa could still hear him. The time had come. The time for war.

"How much longer?" She asked, holding Sandor's hand tightly. Shae had begged her to come to the hold with her and the other women, but Sansa had simply refused. If they were going to die, they were going to die together.

"A few more hours. He will be here before the sun rises." Tyrion said quietly. "We will be waiting for him."

"And will you beat him?" She asked softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sandor's forehead, closing her eyes. "Don't worry, my love. We will be safe. You mustn't fear."

"You ever seen me afraid, little bird?"

* * *

_So, I know, tons of different characters and a lot of action. Next chapter will probably be more about the emotional side of things. Thanks to all of you for reading, favoring, following, and of course reviewing!_


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